a few stars peeped over the ragged ravelled edge of slowly drifting
clouds. By the light of a gas lamp, she saw an old negro man limping
away, who held a stick over his shoulder, on which was slung a
bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief; and while she stood watching,
he vanished in some cul de sac. With her basket in her hand, and her
shawl on her arm, she sped down the track, looking to right and
left.

"Bertie! Bertie!"

Once she fancied she discerned a form flying ahead of her, leaping
from cross tie to cross tie to avoid the water, but when she called
vehemently, only the sound of her own voice broke the silence.

Was it merely an illusion born of her vivid dream of her brother;
and while scarcely awake, had she confounded the tones of a
stranger, with those so long familiar? She could not shake off the
conviction that Bertie had really spoken only a few yards from her,
and while she stood irresolute, puzzling over the problem, the
through freight train dashed by the station and left a trail of
sparks and cinders. To avoid it she sprang on a pile of cross ties
beside the track, and when the fiery serpent wound out of sight, she
reluctantly retraced her steps. How long the night seemed! Would day
never dawn again? She heard the telegraph operator whistling at his
work, and as she re-entered the waiting-room, she saw the ticket
agent standing in his office.

"What time is it?"

"Half-past two o'clock. I might as well have locked up as usual, for