He paused for a moment, to be sure of his self-control, and I had the chance to look at him more closely. His face was not only comely, it was strong, magnetic. The black hair and eyes bespoke a vigorous temperament; the full beard, closely cropped, served rather to accentuate the fine lines of mouth and chin. There was no superfluous flesh about the face--no puffiness; it was thin with the healthy thinness which tells of a busy life, and browned by exposure to wind and sun. It was, altogether, a manly face, not the merely handsome one which I had rather expected. My eyes were drawn especially to his hand as he passed it hastily across his forehead--a hand firm, white, with slightly tapering fingers--an artist's hand which one would scarcely connect with an engineer of construction. "There's really very little I can tell you," he said, at last. "When I saw Marcia this morning----" His voice choked, and he paused, unable, for the moment, to go on. "Let us begin farther back than that, Mr. Curtiss," I suggested, knowing that the beginning was the hardest part. "Mr. Royce tells me you were classmates. When did you graduate from college?" "Seven years ago." "And you came at once to New York?" "Yes, to take the examination for the Pennsylvania road." "You were given a place on the road at once?" "Yes--not a very important place, but one with a chance for promotion, which was all I asked. I was stationed at Pittsburg for three years and then called east to work on the division between New York and Philadelphia. A year ago, I was made assistant at the headquarters office." "Rather a remarkable career," I commented, smiling. "Not at all," he protested quickly. "I liked the work, and I was well equipped." I saw that I should have to revise my opinion of him--certainly he was not conceited. "When did you meet Miss Lawrence?" I asked. "Last December--the tenth, to be quite accurate--just six months ago to-day----" Again his voice trailed away into a sort of hoarse whisper, though he tried desperately to control it. "Won't you tell me about it?" "Is it necessary?" he questioned miserably. "I--I don't want to talk." "I know you don't, and I don't want to make you. But if I'm to help, I must know the whole story." "Pardon me, Mr. Lester," he said, pulling himself together by a mighty effort. "Of course you must. Only give me time. I'm--I'm----" "All the time in the world," I assured him, and settled back in my chair to listen. "We had a bad grade-crossing just east of Elizabeth," he began, after a moment, in a steadier tone. "It was an ugly place, with the driveway coming down a stiff hill and meeting our tracks at an angle which prevented a clear view of them. We kept a flagman there, of course, but nevertheless accidents happened right along. A skittish horse, once started down the hill and frightened perhaps by the whistle and rumble of the approaching train, would be pretty hard to stop."