Fred now met and had to avoid few passers-by, and he hurried on to Margaret's home, thankful that it lay in the direction of the waiting train. The great structure was wholly dark, and there was no sign of life about it. That was her window; he could plainly see it as he stood at the fence. But what, after all, could it matter to him? Perhaps she had not occupied the room for years. His heart seemed turned to stone as the new fear sank into him that she might have married and moved away. She had loved him once; he was as sure of that as he was of her honesty. Yes, she had loved him! She had told him so with her arms tightly clasped about his neck. His shameful conduct had separated them--that and nothing else. With his head lowered he turned away, wholly indifferent now as to whether he was seen or not. Almost before he realized it the wrecked freight-cars were before him; the track was being rapidly cleared; the headlight of the train that was to bear him away was streaming on him with insistent fierceness. “How long will you keep us waiting?” he asked the foreman of the gang, who, in greased and blackened overalls, stood near an overturned truck. “Only an hour or so longer. It is past one now,” was the reply. The Pullman was dimly lighted from the overhead lamps which were turned low, but the outer door was open, and, passing the porter half asleep in the smoking-room, Fred went to his berth, drew the curtains aside, and began to undress. “Is that you, Fred?” a low, anxious voice inquired, and Whipple thrust his shaggy head out from his berth. “Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Whipple?” “No; that is--” The curtains slowly parted, and the old man came out, completely dressed, save for the absence of his coat, collar, and cravat. He looked around cautiously, and seemed relieved to find that they were the only passengers awake. He sank into a seat opposite Fred's berth and sighed. “I've been awfully worried,” he said. “You see, my boy, I missed you. I waited and waited and couldn't sleep a wink, and the longer you stayed away the worse I got. You see, I have my clothes on. I got up, and went out to the wreck, and tried to find you. I don't know what got into me. I was worried--worried like rips.” “I felt restless and--went for a walk,” Walton explained, lamely. “I didn't know it was so late; besides, I thought you'd be sound asleep and not miss me.” “I reckon I'm old and childish,” Whipple said, with a forced laugh. “The fact is, Fred, if the truth must be told, I reckon I feel powerful close to you. I didn't know the thing had taken such a deep hold on me. I reckon it is this trip with just you and me off together like two boys. I've got so I think I can detect when you are happy and when you ain't over your old trouble, and ever since morning I sort o' fancied you looked uneasy and downhearted. Then when you went off, leaving me away out here all by myself, why, somehow, I was afraid--actually afraid that--”