blackness of the night, the huge engine, with its solitary saloon
carriage and guard's brake, thundered its way through the night
towards the great metropolis. Across the desolate plain, stripped
bare of all vegetation, and made hideous forever by the growth of
a mighty industry, where the furnace fires reddened the sky, and
only the unbroken line of ceaseless lights showed where town
dwindled into village and suburbs led back again into town. An
ugly, thickly populated neighborhood, whose area of twinkling
lights seemed to reach almost to the murky skies; hideous, indeed
by day, not altogether devoid now of a certain weird
attractiveness by reason of low-hung stars. On, through many
tunnels into the black country itself, where the furnace fires
burned oftener, but the signs of habitation were fewer. Down the
great iron way the huge locomotive rushed onward, leaping and
bounding across the maze of metals, tearing past the dazzling
signal lights, through crowded stations where its passing was
like the roar of some earth-shaking monster. The station-master
at Crewe unhooked his telephone receiver and rang up Liverpool.

"What about this special?" he demanded.

"Passenger brought off from the Lusitania in a private tug.
Orders are to let her through all the way to London."

"I know all about that," the station-master grumbled. "I have
three locals on my hands already,--been held up for half an hour.
Old Glynn, the director's, in one of them too. Might be General
Manager to hear him swear."

"Is she signalled yet?" Liverpool asked.