Another moment, and the train would be here; a minute more, and he would be gone.
Margaret almost repented the urgency with which she had entreated him to go to London; it was throwing more chances of detection in his way.
If he had sailed for Spain by Liverpool, he might have been off in two or three hours.
Frederick turned round, right facing the lamp, where the gas darted up in vivid anticipation of the train.
A man in the dress of a railway porter started forward; a bad-looking man, who seemed to have drunk himself into a state of brutality, although his senses were in perfect order.
'By your leave, miss!' said he, pushing Margaret rudely on one side, and seizing Frederick by the collar.
'Your name is Hale, I believe?'
In an instant—how, Margaret did not see, for everything danced before her eyes—but by some sleight of wrestling, Frederick had tripped him up, and he fell from the height of three or four feet, which the platform was elevated above the space of soft ground, by the side of the railroad.
There he lay.
'Run, run!' gasped Margaret.
'The train is here.
It was Leonards, was it? oh, run!
I will carry your bag.' And she took him by the arm to push him along with all her feeble force.
A door was opened in a carriage—he jumped in; and as he leant out t say,
'God bless you, Margaret!' the train rushed past her; an she was left standing alone.
She was so terribly sick and faint that she was thankful to be able to turn into the ladies' waiting-room, and sit down for an instant. At first she could do nothing but gasp for breath.
It was such a hurry; such a sickening alarm; such a near chance.
If the train had not been there at the moment, the man would have jumped up again and called for assistance to arrest him.
She wondered if the man had got up: she tried to remember if she had seen him move; she wondered if he could have been seriously hurt.
She ventured out; the platform was all alight, but still quite deserted; she went to the end, and looked over, somewhat fearfully.
No one was there; and then she was glad she had made herself go, and inspect, for otherwise terrible thoughts would have haunted her dreams.
And even as it was, she was so trembling and affrighted that she felt she could not walk home along the road, which did indeed seem lonely and dark, as she gazed down upon it from the blaze of the station.
She would wait till the down train passed and take her seat in it.
But what if Leonards recognised her as Frederick's companion!
She peered about, before venturing into the booking-office to take her ticket.
There were only some railway officials standing about; and talking loud to one another.
'So Leonards has been drinking again!' said one, seemingly in authority.
'He'll need all his boasted influence to keep his place this time.'
'Where is he?' asked another, while Margaret, her back towards them, was counting her change with trembling fingers, not daring to turn round until she heard the answer to this question.
'I don't know.
He came in not five minutes ago, with some long story or other about a fall he'd had, swearing awfully; and wanted to borrow some money from me to go to London by the next up-train.
He made all sorts of tipsy promises, but I'd something else to do than listen to him; I told him to go about his business; and he went off at the front door.'
'He's at the nearest vaults, I'll be bound,' said the first speaker.
'Your money would have gone there too, if you'd been such a fool as to lend it.'
'Catch me!
I knew better what his London meant.
Why, he has never paid me off that five shillings'—and so they went on.
And now all Margaret's anxiety was for the train to come.
She hid herself once more in the ladies' waiting-room, and fancied every noise was Leonards' step—every loud and boisterous voice was his.
But no one came near her until the train drew up; when she was civilly helped into a carriage by a porter, into whose face she durst not look till they were in motion, and then she saw that it was not Leonards'.
Chapter 33 Peace
'Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed,
Never to be disquieted!
My last Good Night—thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake.'
DR. KING.
Home seemed unnaturally quiet after all this terror and noisy commotion.
Her father had seen all due preparation made for her refreshment on her return; and then sate down again in his accustomed chair, to fall into one of his sad waking dreams.
Dixon had got Mary Higgins to scold and direct in the kitchen; and her scolding was not the less energetic because it was delivered in an angry whisper; for, speaking above her breath she would have thought irreverent, as long as there was any one dead lying in the house.