He made no answer, as just then, with a rush and crash and clatter, and deafening shriek of the engine-whistle, the train came thundering in. There was opening and shutting of doors, much banging and confusion, and before she very well knew where she was, Innocent found herself in a compartment with three other persons--one benevolent-looking old gentleman with white hair who was seated opposite to her, and a man and woman, evidently husband and wife. Another shriek and roar, and the train started--as it began to race along, Innocent closed her eyes with a sickening sensation of faintness and terror--then, opening them, saw hedges, fields, trees and ponds all flying past her like scud in the wind, and sat watching in stupefied wonderment--one little hand grasping the satchel that held all her worldly possessions--the other hanging limply at her side. Now and then she looked at her companions--the husband and wife sat opposite each other and spoke occasionally in monosyllables--the old gentleman on the seat facing herself was reading a paper which showed its title--"The Morning Post." Sometimes he looked at her over the top of the paper, but for the most part he appeared absorbed in the printed page. On, on, on, the train rushed at a pace which to her seemed maddening and full of danger--she felt sick and giddy--would it never stop, she thought?--and a deep sense of relief came over her when, with a scream from the engine-whistle loud enough to tear the drum of a sensitive ear, the whole shaking, rattling concern came to an abrupt standstill at a station. Then she mustered up courage to speak. "Please, would you tell me--" she began, faintly. The old gentleman laid down his "Morning Post" and surveyed her encouragingly. "Yes? What is it?" "Will it be long before we get to London?" "About three hours." "Three hours!"