It meant that he would be obliged to stay in Fossingford all night--but
where? A general but comprehensive glance did not reveal anything that
looked like a hotel. He thought of going back to Albany for the night, but
it suddenly occurred to him that she might not stop in that city, after
all. Pulling his wits together, he saw things with a new clearness of
vision. Ostensibly she had announced her intention to spend the month at
Eagle Nest, an obscure but delightful hotel in the hills; but did that
really mean that she would go there? It was doubtless a ruse to throw the
husband off the track. There were scores of places in the mountains, and
it was more than probable that she would give Eagle Nest a wide berth.
Rossiter patted his bump of perceptiveness and smiled serenely until he
came plump up against the realization that she might not come by way of
Fossingford at all, or, in any event, she might go whisking through to
some station farther north. His speculations came to an end in the shape
of a distressing resolution. He would remain in Fossingford and watch the
trains go by!

After he had dashed through several early evening trains, the cheerful,
philosophical smile of courage left his face and trouble stared from his
eyes. He saw awkward prospects ahead. Suppose she were to pass through on
one of the late night trains! He could not rush through the sleepers, even
though the trains stopped in Fossingford for water.

Besides, she could not be identified by means of a gray suit, a sailor
hat, and a purple parasol if they were tucked away in the berth. At eleven
o'clock he was pacing the little depot platform, waiting for the eleven-
ten train, the last he was to inspect for the night. He had eaten a scanty
meal at the restaurant nearby, and was still mad about it. The station
agent slept soundly at his post, and all the rest of the town had gone to
bed.