Chapter 2

_Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, it wasn’t the _first_ proof you had given me how little you really cared for me, but I was determined it should be the last. I dare say you’ve forgotten them! I dare say you don’t remember telling Mamie Morris that you didn’t like embroidered cigar-cases, when you’d just _told_ me that you did, and let me be such a fool as to commence one for you; but I’m thankful to say _that_ went into the fire,—oh, yes, _instantly_! And I dare say you’ve forgotten that you didn’t tell me your brother’s engagement was to be kept, and let me come out with it that night at the Rudges’, and then looked perfectly aghast, so that everybody thought I had been blabbing! Time and again, Allen, you have made me suffer agonies, yes, _agonies_; but your power to do so is at an end. I am free and happy at last.” She weeps bitterly.

_Mr. Richards_, quietly: “Yes, I _had_ forgotten those crimes, and I suppose many similar atrocities. I own it, I _am_ forgetful and careless. I was wrong about those things. I ought to have told you why I said that to Miss Morris: I was afraid she was going to work me one. As to that accident I told Mrs. Dawes of, it wasn’t worth mentioning. Our boat simply walked over a sloop in the night, and nobody was hurt. I shouldn’t have thought twice about it, if she hadn’t happened to brag of their passing close to an iceberg on their way home from Europe; then I trotted out _my_ pretty-near disaster as a match for hers,—confound her! I wish the iceberg had sunk them! Only it wouldn’t have sunk her,—she’s so light; she’d have gone bobbing about all over the Atlantic Ocean, like a cork; she’s got a perfect life-preserver in that mind of hers.” _Miss Galbraith_ gives a little laugh, and then a little moan. “But since you are happy, I will not repine, Miss Galbraith. I don’t pretend to be very happy myself, but then, I don’t deserve it. Since you are ready to let an absolutely unconscious offence on my part cancel all the past; since you let my devoted love weigh as nothing against the momentary pique that a malicious little rattle-pate—she was vexed at my leaving her—could make you feel, and choose to gratify a wicked resentment at the cost of any suffering to me, why, I can be glad and happy too.” With rising anger, “Yes, Miss Galbraith. All _is_ over between us. You can go! I renounce you!”

_Miss Galbraith_, springing fiercely to her feet: “Go, indeed! Renounce me! Be so good as to remember that you haven’t got me _to_ renounce!”

_Mr. Richards_: “Well, it’s all the same thing. I’d renounce you if I had. Good-evening, Miss Galbraith. I will send back your presents as soon as I get to town; it won’t be necessary to acknowledge them. I hope we may never meet again.” He goes out of the door towards the front of the ear, but returns directly, and glances uneasily at Miss Galbraith, who remains with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. “Ah—a—that is—I shall be obliged to intrude upon you again. The fact is”—

_Miss Galbraith_, anxiously: “Why, the cars have stopped! Are we at Schenectady?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Well, no; not _exactly_; not stopped exactly at _Schenectady_”—

_Miss Galbraith_: “Then what station is this? Have they carried me by?” Observing his embarrassment, “Allen, what is the matter? What has happened? Tell me instantly! Are we off the track? Have we run into another train? Have we broken through a bridge? Shall we be burnt alive? Tell me, Allen, tell me,—I can bear it!—are we telescoped?” She wrings her hands in terror.

_Mr. Richards_, unsympathetically: “Nothing of the kind has happened. This car has simply come uncoupled, and the rest of the train has gone on ahead, and left us standing on the track, nowhere in particular.” He leans back in his chair, and wheels it round from her.

_Miss Galbraith_, mortified, yet anxious: “Well?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Well, until they miss us, and run back to pick us up, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence. I will try not to disturb you; I would go out and stand on the platform, but it’s raining.”

_Miss Galbraith_, listening to the rain-fall on the roof: “Why, so it is!” Timidly, “Did you notice when the car stopped?”

_Mr. Richards_: “No.” He rises and goes out at the rear door, comes back, and sits down again.

_Miss Galbraith_, rises, and goes to the large mirror to wipe away her tears. She glances at Mr. Richards, who does not move. She sits down in a seat nearer him than the chair she has left. After some faint murmurs and hesitations, she asks, “Will you please tell me why you went out just now?”

_Mr. Richards_, with indifference: “Yes. I went to see if the rear signal was out.”

_Miss Galbraith_, after another hesitation: “Why?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Because, if it wasn’t out, some train might run into us from that direction.”

_Miss Galbraith_, tremulously: “Oh! And was it?”

_Mr. Richards_, dryly: “Yes.”

_Miss Galbraith_ returns to her former place, with a wounded air, and for a moment neither speaks. Finally she asks very meekly, “And there’s no danger from the front?”

_Mr. Richards_, coldly: “No.”

_Miss Galbraith_, after some little noises and movements meant to catch Mr. Richards’s attention: “Of course, I never meant to imply that you were intentionally careless or forgetful.”

_Mr. Richards_, still very coldly: “Thank you.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “I always did justice to your good-heartedness, Allen; you’re perfectly lovely that way; and I know that you would be sorry if you knew you had wounded my feelings, however accidentally.” She droops her head so as to catch a sidelong glimpse of his face, and sighs, while she nervously pinches the top of her parasol, resting the point on the floor. Mr. Richards makes no answer. “That about the cigar-case might have been a mistake; I saw that myself, and, as you explain it, why, it was certainly very kind and very creditable to—to your thoughtfulness. It _was_ thoughtful!”

_Mr. Richards_: “I am grateful for your good opinion.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “But do you think it was exactly—it was quite—nice, not to tell me that your brother’s engagement was to be kept, when you know, Allen, I can’t bear to blunder in such things?” Tenderly, “_Do_ you? You _can’t_ say it was?”

_Mr. Richards_: “I never said it was.”

_Miss Galbraith_, plaintively: “No, Allen. That’s what I always admired in your character. You always owned up. Don’t you think it’s easier for men to own up than it is for women?”

_Mr. Richards_: “I don’t know. I never knew any woman to do it.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, yes, Allen! You know I _often_ own up.”

_Mr. Richards_: “No, I don’t.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, how can you bear to say so? When I’m rash, or anything of that kind, you know I acknowledge it.”

_Mr. Richards_: “Do you acknowledge it now?”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Why, how can I, when I haven’t _been_ rash? _What_ have I been rash”—

_Mr. Richards_: “About the cigar-case, for example.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Oh! _that_! That was a great while ago! I thought you meant something quite recent.” A sound as of the approaching tram is heard in the distance. She gives a start, and then leaves her chair again for one a little nearer his. “I thought perhaps you meant about—last night.”

_Mr. Richards_: “Well.”

_Miss Galbraith_, very judicially: “I don’t think it was _rash_, exactly. No, not _rash_. It might not have been very _kind_ not to—to—trust you more, when I knew that you didn’t mean anything; but—No, I took the only course I could. Nobody could have done differently under the circumstances. But if I caused you any pain, I’m very sorry; oh, yes, very sorry indeed. But I was not precipitate, and I know I did right. At least I _tried_ to act for the best. Don’t you believe I did?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Why, if you have no doubt upon the subject, my opinion is of no consequence.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Yes. But what do you think? If you think differently, and can make me see it differently, oughtn’t you to do so?”

_Mr. Richards_: “I don’t see why. As you say, all is over between us.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Yes.” After a pause, “I should suppose you would care enough for yourself to wish me to look at the matter from the right point of view.”

_Mr. Richards_: “I don’t.”

_Miss Galbraith_, becoming more and more uneasy as the noise of the approaching train grows louder: “I think you have been very quick with me at times, quite as quick as I could have been with you last night.” The noise is more distinctly heard. “I’m sure that if I could once see it as you do, no one would be more willing to do anything in their power to atone for their rashness. Of course I know that everything is over.”

_Mr. Richards_: “As to that, I have your word; and, in view of the fact, perhaps this analysis of motive, of character, however interesting on general grounds, is a little”—

_Miss Galbraith_, with sudden violence: “Say it, and take your revenge! I have put myself at your feet, and you do right to trample on me! Oh, this is what women may expect when they trust to men’s generosity! Well, it _is_ over now, and I’m thankful, thankful! Cruel, suspicious, vindictive, you’re all alike, and I’m glad that I’m no longer subject to your heartless caprices. And I don’t care what happens after this, I shall always—Oh! You’re sure it’s from the front, Allen? Are you sure the rear signal is out?”

_Mr. Richards_, relenting: “Yes, but if it will ease your mind, I’ll go and look again.” He rises, and starts towards the rear door.

_Miss Galbraith_, quickly: “Oh, no! Don’t go! I can’t bear to be left alone!” The sound of the approaching train continually increases in volume. “Oh, isn’t it coming very, very, _very_ fast?”

_Mr. Richards_: “No, no! Don’t be frightened.”

_Miss Galbraith_, running towards the rear door. “Oh, I _must_ get out! It will kill me, I know it will. Come with me! Do, do!” He runs after her, and her voice is heard at the rear of the car. “Oh, the outside door is locked, and we are trapped, trapped, trapped! Oh, quick! Let’s try the door at the other end.” They re-enter the parlor, and the roar of the train announces that it is upon them. “No, no! It’s too late, it’s too late! I’m a wicked, wicked girl, and this is all to punish me! Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming at full speed!” He remains bewildered, confronting her. She utters a wild cry, and as the train strikes the car with a violent concussion, she flings herself into his arms. “There, there! Forgive me, Allen! Let us die together, my own, own love!” She hangs fainting on his breast. Voices are heard without, and after a little delay _The Porter_ comes in with a lantern.

_Porter_: “Rather more of a jah than we meant to give you, sah! We had to run down pretty quick after we missed you, and the rain made the track a little slippery. Lady much frightened?”

_Miss Galbraith_, disengaging herself: “Oh, not at all! Not in the least. We thought it was a train coming from behind, and going to run into us, and so—we—I”—

_Porter_: “Not quite so bad as that. We’ll be into Schenectady in a few minutes, miss. I’ll come for your things.” He goes out at the other door.

_Miss Galbraith_, in a fearful whisper: “Allen! What will he ever think of us? I’m sure he saw us!”

_Mr. Richards_: “I don’t know what he’ll think _now_. He _did_ think you were frightened; but you told him you were not. However, it isn’t important what he thinks. Probably he thinks I’m your long-lost brother. It had a kind of family look.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Ridiculous!”

_Mr. Richards_: “Why, he’d never suppose that I was a jilted lover of yours!”

_Miss Galbraith_, ruefully: “No.”

_Mr. Richards_: “Come, Lucy,”—taking her hand,—“you wished to die with me, a moment ago. Don’t you think you can make one more effort to live with me? I won’t take advantage of words spoken in mortal peril, but I suppose you were in earnest when you called me your own—own”—Her head droops; he folds her in his arms a moment, then she starts away from him, as if something had suddenly occurred to her.

_Miss Galbraith_: “Allen, where are you going?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Going? Upon my soul, I haven’t the least idea.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Where _were_ you going?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Oh, I _was_ going to Albany.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Well, don’t! Aunt Mary is expecting me here at Schenectady,—I telegraphed her,—and I want you to stop here, too, and we’ll refer the whole matter to her. She’s such a wise old head. I’m not sure”—

_Mr. Richards_: “What?”

_Miss Galbraith_, demurely: “That I’m good enough for you.”

_Mr. Richards_, starting, in burlesque of her movement, as if a thought had struck _him_: “Lucy! how came you on this train when you left Syracuse on the morning express?”

_Miss Galbraith_, faintly: “I waited over a train at Utica.” She sinks into a chair, and averts her face.

_Mr. Richards_: “May I ask why?”

_Miss Galbraith_, more faintly still: “I don’t like to tell. I”—

_Mr. Richards_, coming and standing in front of her, with his hands in his pockets: “Look me in the eye, Lucy!” She drops her veil over her face, and looks up at him. “Did you—did you expect to find _me_ on this train?”

_Miss Galbraith_: “I was afraid it never _would_ get along,—it was so late!”

_Mr. Richards_: “Don’t—tergiversate.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Don’t _what_?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Fib.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Not for worlds!”

_Mr. Richards_: “How did you know I was in this car?”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Must I? I thought I saw you through the window; and then I made sure it was you when I went to pin my veil on,—I saw you in the mirror.”

_Mr. Richards_, after a little silence: “Miss Galbraith, do you want to know what _you_ are?”

_Miss Galbraith_, softly: “Yes, Allen.”

_Mr. Richards_: “You’re a humbug!”

_Miss Galbraith_, springing from her seat, and confronting him. “So are you! You pretended to be asleep!”

_Mr. Richards_: “I—I—I was taken by surprise. I had to take time to think.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “So did I.”

_Mr. Richards_: “And you thought it would be a good plan to get your polonaise caught in the window?”

_Miss Galbraith_, hiding her face on his shoulder: “No, no, Allen! That I never _will_ admit. _No_ woman would!”

_Mr. Richards_: “Oh, I dare say!” After a pause: “Well, I am a poor, weak, helpless man, with no one to advise me or counsel me, and I have been cruelly deceived. How could you, Lucy, how could you? I can never get over this.” He drops his head upon her shoulder.

_Miss Galbraith_, starting away again, and looking about the car: “Allen, I have an idea! Do you suppose Mr. Pullman could be induced to _sell_ this car?”

_Mr. Richards_: “Why?”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Why, because I think it’s perfectly lovely, and I should like to live in it always. It could be fitted up for a sort of summer-house, don’t you know, and we could have it in the garden, and you could smoke in it.”

_Mr. Richards_: “Admirable! It would look just like a travelling photographic saloon. No, Lucy, we won’t buy it; we will simply keep it as a precious souvenir, a sacred memory, a beautiful dream,—and let it go on fulfilling its destiny all the same.”

_Porter_, entering, and gathering up _Miss Galbraith’s_ things: “Be at Schenectady in half a minute, miss. Won’t have much time.”

_Miss Galbraith_, rising, and adjusting her dress, and then looking about the car, while she passes her hand through her lover’s arm: “Oh, I do _hate_ to leave it. Farewell, you dear, kind, good, lovely car! May you never have another accident!” She kisses her hand to the car, upon which they both look back as they slowly leave it.

_Mr. Richards_, kissing his hand in the like manner: “Good-by, sweet chariot! May you never carry any but bridal couples!”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Or engaged ones!”

_Mr. Richards_: “Or husbands going home to their wives!”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Or wives hastening to their husbands.”

_Mr. Richards_: “Or young ladies who have waited one train over, so as to be with the young men they hate.”

_Miss Galbraith_: “Or young men who are so indifferent that they pretend to be asleep when the young ladies come in!” They pause at the door and look back again. “‘And must I leave thee, Paradise?’” They both kiss their hands to the car again, and, their faces being very close together, they impulsively kiss each other. Then _Miss Galbraith_ throws back her head, and solemnly confronts him. “Only think, Allen! If this car hadn’t broken _its_ engagement, we might never have mended ours.”