Lilian put down Musüme that she might stretch her little legs, then she established herself in the fat woman's corner, and pulled the curtain across the dusty window--the heat would be more bearable now. Then Musüme uttered a shrill little bark and fled growling to her mistress as some one entered with a flying leap. It was the red-headed young man. Lilian nearly gasped, but there was no time to leave the carriage, for the whistle had already sounded. "Just saved myself by the skin of my teeth," observed the young fellow, in his chirpy voice. He had a _Graphic_ and a bag of greengages, and seemed more cheerful than ever. "Like to see the _Graphic_, miss?" holding out the paper with an ingratiating smile that seemed to say, "Let's be sociable." "Thanks very much, but I've seen it"--distinctly a white lie. "Dear, what a bad job"--in a disappointed tone. "I could easily have got _Black and White_ or the _Sketch_." "Thank you"--in a freezing tone. "I do not care to read." "Ah, you prefer to look at the scenery; know every yard of it myself between Layton and Brocklebank. My old mother lives at Brocklebank." (Lilian had a mother, too, at Brocklebank, but she kept this fact to herself.) "Beg pardon, may I offer you some greengages? They are very sweet and juicy." "No, thank you," and then Lilian attempted a yawn and closed her eyes. Sleep was never farther from her, but she saw no other way of reducing him to silence, absurd and officious as he was; she had no wish to quarrel with him; it was evident the poor creature knew no better, she said to herself, with a superb tolerance. Once when the silence had lasted a long time, she peeped through her fingers at him. He was in a high state of enjoyment; he had the _Graphic_ on his knee, and the open bag stood at his elbow; his hat was off, and his red crop gleamed in the sunshine, his round face and wide open blue eyes made him look like a radiant infant. "I don't believe there's any harm in him; he can't help being vulgar," thought Lilian. "It was really very good-natured of him to offer to share his fruit with me; there goes another stone. Mr. Redhead evidently has a fancy for greengages." Lilian's sense of humour, always her strong point, was overcoming her moodiness. She was just then thinking how she would dramatise the situation for Ralph's benefit, when a sudden shock hurled her to the other end of the carriage. "Beg pardon--hold on, miss--I believe we are in for a scrimmage, as sure as my name's Tom Hunter," but before the words were out of his mouth, there was a second shock; then darkness, a crash, terrified screams, and then Lilian heard no more. * * * * * "Beg pardon, miss, but if you are alive----" These were the first words that greeted Lilian on her return to consciousness. Where was she? Where had she heard that voice? Why was it dark? had she fainted? What was that heaving substance under her?