The Trespasser

She glanced up at him, smiling brightly.

'But shall we come down here in the morning, and find some?' she asked.

She put the question timidly. 'Would you care to?' she added.

Siegmund darkened and frowned. Here was the pain revived again.

'No,' he said gently; 'I think we had better not.' Almost for the first

time he did not make apologetic explanation.

Helena turned to the window, and remained, looking out at the spinning

of the lights of the towns without speaking, until they were near

Sutton. Then she rose and pinned on her hat, gathering her gloves and

her basket. She was, in spite of herself, slightly angry. Being quite

ready to leave the train, she sat down to wait for the station. Siegmund

was aware that she was displeased, and again, for the first time, he

said to himself, 'Ah, well, it must be so.' She looked at him. He was sad, therefore she softened instantly.

'At least,' she said doubtfully, 'I shall see you at the station.' 'At Waterloo?' he asked.

'No, at Wimbledon,' she replied, in her metallic tone.

'But--' he began.

'It will be the best way for us,' she interrupted, in the calm tone of

conviction. 'Much better than crossing London from Victoria to

Waterloo.' 'Very well,' he replied.

He looked up a train for her in his little time-table.

'You will get in Wimbledon 10.5--leave 10.40--leave Waterloo 11.30,' he

said.

'Very good,' she answered.

The brakes were grinding. They waited in a burning suspense for the

train to stop.

'If only she will soon go!' thought Siegmund. It was an intolerable

minute. She rose; everything was a red blur. She stood before him,

pressing his hand; then he rose to give her the bag. As he leaned upon

the window-frame and she stood below on the platform, looking up at him,

he could scarcely breathe. 'How long will it be?' he said to himself,

looking at the open carriage doors. He hated intensely the lady who

could not get a porter to remove her luggage; he could have killed her;

he could have killed the dilatory guard. At last the doors slammed and

the whistle went. The train started imperceptibly into motion.

'Now I lose her,' said Siegmund.

She looked up at him; her face was white and dismal.

'Good-bye, then!' she said, and she turned away.

Siegmund went back to his seat. He was relieved, but he trembled with

sickness. We are all glad when intense moments are done with; but why

did she fling round in that manner, stopping the keen note short; what

would she do?