The Survivor | Page 9

cheeks were stained with scarlet.
"I do not know why you laugh," he said, with a note of fierceness in his
tone. "It is the part of my life which is behind me. I was brought up to it,
and traditions are hard to break away from. I have been obliged to live
in a little village, to constrain my life between the narrowest limits, to
watch ignorance, and suffer prejudices as deeply rooted as the hills. But
all the same, it is nothing to laugh at. The thing itself is great and good
enough--it is the people who are so hopeless. No, there is nothing to
laugh at," he cried, with a sudden little burst of excitement, "but may
God help the children whose eyes He has opened and who yet have to
pass their lives on the smallest treadmill of the world."
"You" she whispered, "have escaped."

"I have escaped," he murmured, with a sudden pallor, "but not
scatheless."
There was a silence between them then. She recognised that she had
made a mistake in questioning him about a past which he had already
declared hateful. The terror of an hour or more ago was in his face
again. He was back amongst the shadows whence she had beckoned
him. She yawned and took up her book.
They stopped at a great station, but the man was in a brown study and
scarcely moved his head. An angry guard came hurrying up to the
window, but a few words from the lady and a stealthily opened purse
worked wonders. They were left undisturbed, and the train glided off.
She laid down her book and spoke again.
"Do you mind passing me my luncheon basket?" she said, "and opening
that flask of wine? Are you not hungry, too?"
He shook his head, but when he came to think of it he knew that he was
ravenous. She passed him sandwiches as a matter of course--such
sandwiches as he had never eaten before--and wine which was strange
to him and which ran through his veins like warm magic. Once more
the load of evil memories seemed to pass away from him. He was not
so much at ease eating and drinking with her, but she easily acquired
her former hold upon him. She herself, whose appetite was assumed,
watched him, and wondered more and more.
Suddenly there came an interruption. The shrill whistling of the engine,
the shutting off of steam, the violent application of the brake. The train
came to a standstill. The man put down the window and looked out.
"What is it?" she asked, with admirable nonchalance, making no effort
to leave her seat.
"I think that there has been an accident to some one," he said. "I will go
and see."
She nodded.

"Come back and tell me," she said. "Myself I shall not look. I am not
fond of horrors."
She took up her book, and he jumped down upon the line and made his
way to where a little group of men were standing in a circle. Some one
turned away with white face as he approached and stopped him.
"Don't look!--for God's sake, don't look!" he said. "It's too awful. It isn't
fit. Fetch a tarpaulin, some one."
"Was he run over?" some one asked. "Threw himself from that
carriage," the guard answered, moving his head towards a third-class
compartment, of which the door stood open. "He was dragged half a
mile, and--there isn't much left of him, poor devil," he added, with a
little break in his speech.
"Does any one know who he was?" the young man asked.
"No one--nor where he got in."
"No luggage?"
"None."
The young man set his teeth and moved towards the carriage. His hand
stole for a moment to his pocket, then he seemed to pick something up
from the dusty floor.
"Here's a card," he said to the guard, "on the seat where he was."
The man took it and spelt the name out.
"Mr. Douglas Guest," he said. "Well, we shall know who he was, at any
rate. It's lucky you found it, sir. Now we'll get on, if you please."
A tarpaulin-covered burden was carefully deposited in an empty
carriage, and the little troop of people melted away. She looked up
from her book as he entered.

"Well?"
"It was an accident, or a suicide," he said, gravely. "A man threw
himself from an empty carriage in front and was run over. It was a
horrible affair."
"Do they know who he was?" she asked.
"There was a card found near him," he answered. "Mr. Douglas Guest.
That was his name."
Was it his fancy, or did she look at him for a moment more intently
during the momentary silence which followed his speech? It