The Passenger from Calais | Page 8

have said, but she chose to put
other words into my mouth.
"To join us in the watching? Take your turn of 'sentry go'--isn't that
your military term? Become one of us, belong to a gang of thieves,
liable like the rest of us to the law? Ah, that would be trying you too far.
I see your face fall."
"I am ready to do much to serve you. I would gladly help you, see you
through any difficulty by the way, but I'm afraid I must draw the line at
active partnership," I answered a little lamely under her mocking eyes.
Once more, as suddenly as before, she veered round.
"There is a limit, then, to your devotion?" She was coldly sarcastic now,
and I realized painfully that I had receded in her favour. "I must not
expect unhesitating self-sacrifice? So be it; it is well to know how far I
may go. I sincerely hope I may have no need of you at all. How
thankful I am that I never let you into my secrets! Good afternoon," and
with a contemptuous whisk of her skirts and a laugh, she was gone.
"I'll have nothing more to say to her," I cried in great heat, vexed and
irritated beyond measure at her capricious temper. I should only be
dragged into some pitfall, some snare, some dire unpleasantness. But
what did I know of her real character? What of my first doubts and
suspicions? She had by no means dispelled them. She had only
bamboozled me by her insinuating ways, had drawn me on by her
guileful cleverness to pity and promises to befriend her. I had accorded
her an active sympathy which in my more sober moments I felt she did
not, could not, deserve; if I were not careful she would yet involve me
in some inextricable mess.
So for half an hour I abused her fiercely; I swore at myself hotly as an
ass, a hopeless and unmitigated ass, ever ready to be betrayed and
beguiled by woman's wiles, the too easy victim of the first pretty face I
saw. The fit lasted for quite half an hour, and then came the reaction. I
heard her rich deep voice singing in my ears, I felt the haunting
glamour of her eyes, remembered her gracious presence, and my heart
went out to her. I was so sorry for her: how could I cast her off? How

could I withhold my countenance if she were in real distress? She was a
woman--a weak, helpless woman; I could not desert and abandon her.
However reprehensible her conduct might have been, she had a claim
to my protection from ill-usage, and I knew in my heart that she might
count upon a good deal more. I knew, of course, that I ought not to
stand between her and the inevitable Nemesis that awaits upon
misdeeds, but what if I helped her to avoid or escape it?
The opportunity was nearer at hand than I thought. My kindly
intentions, bred of my latest sentiments towards Mrs. Blair, were soon
to be put to the test.
CHAPTER V.
The train reached Amiens punctually at 5 P.M., and a stoppage of five
minutes was announced. I got out to stretch my legs on the platform.
No one took much notice of us; it must have been known that the train
was empty, for there were no waiters from the buffet with café au lait
or fruit, or brioches--no porters about, or other officials.
I had not expected to see any passengers come on board the train, a
through express, made up of sleeping-cars and a supplementary charge
on the tickets. But on running into the station (ours was the first
carriage) I had noticed a man standing with a valise in his hand, and I
saw him following the train down the platform when we stopped. He
addressed himself to a little group of conductors who had already
alighted, and were gossiping idly among themselves, having nothing
else to do. One of them indicated our particular attendant, to whom he
spoke, and who brought him directly to our carriage.
Evidently the newcomer was bound for Lucerne via Basle. Here was
one more occupant of our neglected train, another companion and
fellow traveller in our nearly empty sleeping-car. Curiosity and
something more led me to examine this man closely; it was a strange,
undefined, inexplicable sense of foreboding, of fateful forecast, that he
and I were destined to be thrown together unpleasantly, to be much
mixed up with one another, and to the comfort and satisfaction of

neither.
Who and what was he? His position in life, his business, trade or
calling were not to be easily fixed; a commercial man, an agent or
"traveller" on