"Are you waiting to make up your mind till the train has gone?" she
asked.

The young man frowned impatiently. "I am waiting for a person whom I
expect to see," he answered. "If the person travels by this train, we
shall travel by it. If not, we shall come back here, and look out for
the next train, and so on till night-time, if it's necessary."

The woman fixed her small scowling gray eyes on the man as he replied
in those terms. "Look here!" she broke out. "I like to see my way
before me. You're a stranger, young Mister; and it's as likely as not
you've given me a false name and address. That don't matter. False
names are commoner than true ones, in my line of life. But mind this! I
don't stir a step farther till I've got half the money in my hand, and
my return-ticket there and back."

"Hold your tongue!" the man suddenly interposed in a whisper. "It's all
right. I'll get the tickets."

He looked while he spoke at an elderly traveller, hastening by with his
head down, deep in thought, noticing nobody. The traveller was Mr.
Ronald. The young man, who had that moment recognized him, was his
runaway porter, John Farnaby.

Returning with the tickets, the porter took his repellent travelling
companion by the arm, and hurried her along the platform to the train.
"The money!" she whispered, as they took their places. Farnaby handed
it to her, ready wrapped up in a morsel of paper. She opened the paper,
satisfied herself that no trick had been played her, and leaned back in
her corner to go to sleep. The train started. Old Ronald travelled by