CHAPTER XXVI. ADAH’S JOURNEY. The night express from Rochester to Albany was crowded. Every car was full, and the clamorous bell rang out its first summons for all to get on board, just as a frightened-looking woman, bearing in her arms a sleeping boy, stepped upon the platform of the rear carriage, and looked wistfully in at the long, dark line of passengers filling every seat. Wearily, anxiously, she had passed through every car, beginning at the first, her tired eyes scanning each occupant, as if mutely begging some one to have pity on her ere exhausted nature failed entirely, and she sank fainting to the floor. None had heeded that silent appeal, though many had marked the pallor of her girlish face, and the extreme beauty of the baby features nestling in her bosom. She could not hold out much longer, and when she reached the last car and saw that too was full, the chin quivered, and a tear glistened in the long eyelashes, sweeping the colorless cheek. Slowly she passed up the aisle until she came to where there was a vacant seat, only a gentleman’s shawl was piled upon it, and the gentleman looking so unconcernedly from the window, and apparently oblivious of her close proximity to him, would not surely object to her sitting there. How the tired woman did wish he would turn toward her and give some token that she was welcome. But no, his eyes were only intent on the darkness without; he had no care for her, though he knew she was there. He had seen the shrinking figure with its sleeping burden, as it came in, and the selfishness which was so much a part of his whole being, prompted him to cover the seat as far as possible with his long limbs, while leaning his elbow upon the window stool, he seemed absorbed in something outside, peering into the foggy darkness, for it was a rainy winter’s night, as persistently as if there were standing before him no half-fainting form, ready to sink down at his feet. The oil lamp was burning dimly, and the girl’s white face was lost in the shadow, when the young man first glanced at her, so he had no suspicion of the truth, though a most undefinable sensation crept over him when he heard the timid footfall, and the rustling of female garments as _Adah Hastings_ drew near with her boy in her arms. He heard its faint breathings, and half turned his head just as Adah passed on, her weary sigh falling distinctly on his ear, but failing to awaken a feeling of remorse for his unmanly conduct. “I’m glad she’s gone. I can’t be bothered,” was his mental comment as he settled himself more comfortably, feeling a glow of satisfaction when the train began to move, and he knew no more women with their babies would be likely to trouble him. With that first heavy strain of the machinery Adah lost her balance, and would have fallen headlong but for the friendly hand put forth to save the fall.