Too late! Too late! The red light of the last train to Streambridge was just disappearing into the big tunnel. What was to be done? He stood for a moment irresolute. Yes; it was the last train, and it was gone. A cab was the first idea. Leaving Madeline, who was benumbed with waiting, and a good deal frightened, he hurried to the cab-rank. It was empty and void. He waylaid a passing cabby, and told him the state of the case. “Ten miles in deep snow! Couldn’t be done, sir, at no price.” The same story was repeated elsewhere. There was nothing for it but to go back to Madeline, who was now shivering over the dying fire in the ladies’ waiting-room. “Well?” she asked, raising her face expectantly. “No cab to be had,” he rejoined, with assumed _sangfroid_. “No cab to be had!” she repeated, her eyes darkening and dilating with horror. “Oh, Mr. Wynne, can we walk?” Mad project! “No. I fancy the best thing will be to stop here all night--I mean at the Railway Hotel--and go on by the first train in the morning. I will go to the landlady and ask her to look after you, and I will find quarters elsewhere. It will be all right,” he continued reassuringly. “Are you certain that Miss Selina said the _foot_ of the steps?” he asked, as if struck by an afterthought. “Yes; quite certain,” resolutely. “Here!” he called to a sleepy porter. “Did you see a party looking for people by the last train--three ladies and three gentlemen?” “Yes, sir; stout old party and two elderly ladies”--(oh, ye gods! if the Miss Harpers had heard him!)--“three gents. They came by the West Street entrance; they _did_ seem looking--that is, the gents was--but one of the ladies said you were all right, and bundled the whole pack into a carriage. She seemed in a terrible flurry.” “Well, we can do no good by waiting here,” said Wynne, at length. “Come along, there is nothing to be frightened at, Miss West.” (Miss West was crying quietly, and very much alarmed indeed.) “You will be back in time for breakfast. It was all an accident--a misunderstanding, and if there is any one to blame, or to be blamed, you must blame _me_.” “I know they will be awfully angry,” said Madeline, turning her white face to his. “I don’t know _what_ they will say!” “Not angry, when I have explained everything to their entire satisfaction. I will go security that you will not get into any trouble. I will see Mrs. Harper myself.” And, really, half an hour later, as Madeline sat with her feet on the fender of a luxurious bedroom in the Railway Hotel--a magnificent apartment to her benighted eyes--with a hot coal fire before her, and a cup of steaming coffee in her hand, she began to cheer up, and to take a brighter view of the situation. What harm was it, after all? Missing a train--nothing so very dreadful. She would only get a scolding, at the worst. Alas! she was but too well accustomed to scoldings!