There was no impediment offered to her entering the station. Several persons were standing about, but they did not appear to notice her, and she passed through the room where the tickets were given, on to the platform. There she found herself in the midst of a crowd. Not a moving crowd but a waiting crowd, whose faces were mostly turned one way--that by which the expected train ought to come. Sara saw a talkative porter, and got near him, a man she knew. "Has there been an accident?" she asked. "Well, miss, there's nothing known for certain. It's odd where the train can be; and if anything _has_ happened, it's odder still that the telegraph haven't brought word of it. I remember once she was half an hour late before." "Who was?" asked Sara, bewildered. "This here seven o'clock train. 'Twarn't nothing wrong with her then; some of them bothering excursion-trains had blocked up the line. I'd lay, miss, it's the same thing tonight. The doctor ain't gone down the line, is he?" "No, no. I am expecting my cousin and Mr. Cray." "It'll be all right, miss. She won't be long. We shall hear her steam directly." Somewhat reassured, Sara turned, and was pushing her way through the throng, wishing to get clear of it, when she found herself a sort of prisoner. A gentleman had placed his arm before her, and looking up in the moonlight she discerned the features of Oswald Cray. Her heart gave a great bound of satisfaction, of _love_, and she almost caught at his protecting hand. It was a curious and exciting scene. The station raising its imposing height to the night sky, so blue and beautiful; the crowd gathered there, unnaturally still in the intensity of awed expectation; the lights and bustle of the town not far away; the noiseless tread of the porters, as they moved restlessly in their suspense;--all made a painfully interesting picture in the bright moonlight. Oswald Cray was waiting for the incoming train. It was the one he intended to depart by. He drew Sara away from the throng, and gave her his arm. Her heart was beating at the consciousness of his presence; her whole frame had thrilled at the touch of his hand. "Is there danger, do you fear?" she whispered. "No, I trust not. I think not. Were anything wrong, the telegraph would have brought the news. It must be some obstruction on the line." Sara's fear faded away. She had confidence in _him_. If he, so experienced, the line's own engineer, saw no cause for dread, why should she? Perhaps she could not quite banish one little corner of doubt in her heart; perhaps Mr. Oswald Cray might have some slight corner of fear himself, which he did not deem it expedient to impart to her. "Did you get frightened, Sara?" he asked, as they walked slowly to and fro in the moonlight.