_Miss Galbraith_, running towards the rear door. “Oh, I _must_ get out! It will kill me, I know it will. Come with me! Do, do!” He runs after her, and her voice is heard at the rear of the car. “Oh, the outside door is locked, and we are trapped, trapped, trapped! Oh, quick! Let’s try the door at the other end.” They re-enter the parlor, and the roar of the train announces that it is upon them. “No, no! It’s too late, it’s too late! I’m a wicked, wicked girl, and this is all to punish me! Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming at full speed!” He remains bewildered, confronting her. She utters a wild cry, and as the train strikes the car with a violent concussion, she flings herself into his arms. “There, there! Forgive me, Allen! Let us die together, my own, own love!” She hangs fainting on his breast. Voices are heard without, and after a little delay _The Porter_ comes in with a lantern. _Porter_: “Rather more of a jah than we meant to give you, sah! We had to run down pretty quick after we missed you, and the rain made the track a little slippery. Lady much frightened?” _Miss Galbraith_, disengaging herself: “Oh, not at all! Not in the least. We thought it was a train coming from behind, and going to run into us, and so—we—I”— _Porter_: “Not quite so bad as that. We’ll be into Schenectady in a few minutes, miss. I’ll come for your things.” He goes out at the other door. _Miss Galbraith_, in a fearful whisper: “Allen! What will he ever think of us? I’m sure he saw us!” _Mr. Richards_: “I don’t know what he’ll think _now_. He _did_ think you were frightened; but you told him you were not. However, it isn’t important what he thinks. Probably he thinks I’m your long-lost brother. It had a kind of family look.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Ridiculous!” _Mr. Richards_: “Why, he’d never suppose that I was a jilted lover of yours!” _Miss Galbraith_, ruefully: “No.” _Mr. Richards_: “Come, Lucy,”—taking her hand,—“you wished to die with me, a moment ago. Don’t you think you can make one more effort to live with me? I won’t take advantage of words spoken in mortal peril, but I suppose you were in earnest when you called me your own—own”—Her head droops; he folds her in his arms a moment, then she starts away from him, as if something had suddenly occurred to her. _Miss Galbraith_: “Allen, where are you going?” _Mr. Richards_: “Going? Upon my soul, I haven’t the least idea.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Where _were_ you going?” _Mr. Richards_: “Oh, I _was_ going to Albany.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Well, don’t! Aunt Mary is expecting me here at Schenectady,—I telegraphed her,—and I want you to stop here, too, and we’ll refer the whole matter to her. She’s such a wise old head. I’m not sure”— _Mr. Richards_: “What?” _Miss Galbraith_, demurely: “That I’m good enough for you.”