sweet face under
the big black hat, while Tryon Dunham explained, "She's a friend of mine.
I hope you'll be good to her." In answer, he nodded grim assent with a
smileless alacrity which was nevertheless satisfactory and comforting.
Then the young man walked through the train to interview the porter and
the newsboy, and in every way to arrange for a pleasant journey for one
who three hours before had been unknown to him. As he went, he reflected
that he would rather enjoy being conductor himself just for that night. He
felt a strange reluctance toward giving up the oversight of the young
woman whose destiny for a few brief hours had been thrust upon him, and
who was about to pass out of his world again.

When he returned to her he found the shades closely drawn and the girl
sitting in the sheltered corner of the section, where she could not be
seen from the aisle, but where she could watch in the mirror the approach
of any one. She welcomed him with a smile, but instantly urged him to
leave the train, lest he be carried away.

He laughed at her fears, and told her there was plenty of time. Even after
the train had given its preliminary shudder, he lingered to tell her that
she must be sure to let him know by telegraph if she needed any further
help; and at last swung himself from the platform after the train was in
full motion.

Immediately he remembered that he had not given her any money. How could
he have forgotten? And there was the North Side Station yet to be passed
before she would be out of danger. Why had he not remained on the train
until she was past that stop, and then returned on the next train from the
little flag-station a few miles above, where he could have gotten the
conductor to slow up for him? The swiftly moving cars asked the question
as the long train flew by him. The last car was almost past when he made a
daring dash and flung himself headlong upon the platform, to the horror of
several trainmen who stood on the adjoining tracks.

"Gee!" said one, shaking