The other passengers in the coach stared at him. People always did. Impressive looking man, must be somebody, they decided. No one would have dared drop his bag in that section and sit down opposite such an oppressively prosperous looking person, not even if he had a ticket for the “upper.” He would have glanced at his ticket, at Cutter; then he would have gone on to the “smoker” and arranged with the porter to let him know when he might climb into his berth, which, of course, would be after the great man had gone to bed in the lower one. This is the professional pose of the recent-rich man. Every one who rides in sleepers and parlor cars is familiar with the type. Sometimes a shoe drummer can put it on to perfection; but as a rule it is a fellow like Cutter, whose character and tastes and manners have been developed by the shock of wealth, a diseased man morally who receives more involuntary respect than any really distinguished man could bear. A man in mental, moral or financial distress will frequently pace the floor all night. But women never do, because the forms of grief and anxiety to which they are subject weaken them physically so that they immediately take to their beds in anticipation of this prostration. Therefore I hold that it is a circumstance worth mentioning that Helen did not retire that night. She remained seated as he had left her until she heard the express go by. Then she went through the house turning out the lights. Maria, she observed by the seam of light under the kitchen door, was still in there. If all her faculties had not been concentrated on something else, she might have wondered why Maria was later than usual in clearing up after dinner. She passed back up the hall without so much as a look at her bed through the open door of her room, and sat down again in the same chair in the parlor, as you go back to the place where you left off in a book or to a train of thought when you have been interrupted. There could never be real darkness in Shannon any more, because the city had “water and electric lights” now. Still the room was nearly dark, with only a faint reflection of the street light far below through the window. Helen sat like the ghost of herself in this dimness and silence. She was not thinking nor feeling. She had literally been drugged by the horror of this last hour. She was numb--past all pain. Presently she must return to consciousness; but she instinctively prolonged this trance. Sometimes she changed her position in her chair, but never once did she languish or cover her face with her hands or address her Father in heaven.