"None of these men of iron have," he said sententiously. "They have no
hearts."

"_He_ has not," she said. She turned her discontented face towards
the window. The distant sound of a roaring and rushing drew nearer and
grew in volume; the house quivered; one heard the metallic rattle of the
tender. As the train passed, there was a glare of light above the cutting
and a driving tumult of smoke; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight black oblongs--eight trucks--passed across the dim grey of the
embankment, and were suddenly extinguished one by one in the throat of the
tunnel, which, with the last, seemed to swallow down train, smoke, and
sound in one abrupt gulp.

"This country was all fresh and beautiful once," he said; "and now--it is
Gehenna. Down that way--nothing but pot-banks and chimneys belching fire
and dust into the face of heaven...But what does it matter? An end comes,
an end to all this cruelty..._To-morrow."_ He spoke the last word in
a whisper.

"_To-morrow,"_ she said, speaking in a whisper too, and still staring
out of the window.

"Dear!" he said, putting his hand on hers.

She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one another's. Hers
softened to his gaze. "My dear one!" she said, and then: "It seems so
strange--that you should have come into my life like this--to open--" She
paused.

"To open?" he said.