And Anna wondered at herself when the excitement of leaving was past and
the train was bearing her swiftly along on her mission of duty. She had
written a few lines to Charlie Millbrook, telling him of her unaltered
love and bidding him come to her in three weeks' time, when she would be
ready to see him.
It was very dark and rainy, and the passengers jostled each other
rudely as they passed from the cars in Albany and hurried to the boat.
It was new business to Anna, traveling alone and in the night, and a
feeling akin to fear was creeping over her as she wondered where she
should find the eastern train.
"Follow the crowd," seemed yelled out for her benefit, though it was
really intended for a timid, deaf old lady, who had anxiously asked what
to do of one whose laconic reply was: "Follow the crowd." And Anna did
follow the crowd which led her safely to the waiting cars. Snugly
ensconced in a seat all to herself, she vainly imagined there was no
more trouble until Cleveland or Buffalo at least was reached. How, then,
was she disappointed when, alighting for a moment at Rochester, she
found herself in a worse babel, if possible, than had existed at Albany.
Where were all these folks going, and which was the train? "I ought not
to have alighted at all," she thought; "I might have known I never could
find my way back." Never, sure, was poor, little woman so confused and
bewildered as Anna, and it is not strange that she stood directly upon
the track, unmindful of the increasing din and roar as the train from
Niagara Falls came thundering into the depot. It was in vain that the
cabman nearest to her helloed to warn her of the impending danger. She
never dreamed that they meant her, or suspected her great peril, until
from out of the group waiting to take that very train, a tall figure
sprang, and grasping her light form around the waist, bore her to a
place of safety--not because he guessed that it was Annie, but because
it was a human being whom he would save from a fearful death.
"Excuse me, madam," he began, but whatever she might have said was lost
in the low, thrilling scream of joy with which Anna recognized him.
"Charlie, Charlie! oh, Charlie!" she cried, burying her face in his
bosom and sobbing like a child.
There was no time to waste in explanations; scarcely time, indeed, for
Charlie to ask where she was going, and if the necessity to go on were
imperative.
"You won't leave me," Anna whispered.
"Leave you, darling? No," and pressing the little fingers twining so
lovingly about his own, Charlie replied: "Whither thou goest I will go.
I shall not leave you again."