The Trespasser

'Here I am!' he said. 'Where is Louisa?' Helena pointed to the seat without answering. She was looking at

Siegmund. He was distracted by the excitement of the moment, so she

could not read him.

'Olive is there, too,' she explained.

Siegmund stood still, straining his eyes to see the two women seated

amidst pale wicker dress-baskets and dark rugs. The stranger made things

more complex.

'Does she--your other friend--does she know?' he asked.

'She knows nothing,' replied Helena in a low tone, as she led him

forward to be introduced.

'How do you do?' replied Olive in most mellow contralto. 'Behold the

dauntless three, with their traps! You will see us forth on our perils?' 'I will, since I may not do more,' replied Siegmund, smiling,

continuing: 'And how is Sister Louisa?' 'She is very well, thank you. It is _her_ turn now,' cried Louisa,

vindictive, triumphant.

There was always a faint animosity in her bearing towards Siegmund. He

understood, and smiled at her enmity, for the two were really

good friends.

'It is your turn now,' he repeated, smiling, and he turned away.

He and Helena walked down the platform.

'How did you find things at home?' he asked her.

'Oh, as usual,' she replied indifferently. 'And you?' 'Just the same,' he answered. He thought for a moment or two, then

added: 'The children are happier without me.' 'Oh, you mustn't say that kind of thing protested Helena miserably.

'It's not true.' 'It's all right, dear,' he answered. 'So long as they are happy, it's

all right.' After a pause he added: 'But I feel pretty bad tonight.' Helena's hand tightened on his arm. He had reached the end of the

platform. There he stood, looking up the line which ran dark under a

haze of lights. The high red signal-lamps hung aloft in a scarlet swarm;

farther off, like spangles shaking downwards from a burst sky-rocket,

was a tangle of brilliant red and green signal-lamps settling. A train

with the warm flare on its thick column of smoke came thundering upon

the lovers. Dazed, they felt the yellow bar of carriage-windows brush in

vibration across their faces. The ground and the air rocked. Then

Siegmund turned his head to watch the red and the green lights in the

rear of the train swiftly dwindle on the darkness. Still watching the

distance where the train had vanished, he said: 'Dear, I want you to promise that, whatever happens to me, you will go

on. Remember, dear, two wrongs don't make a right.' Helena swiftly, with a movement of terror, faced him, looking into his

eyes. But he was in the shadow, she could not see him. The flat sound of

his voice, lacking resonance--the dead, expressionless tone--made her

lose her presence of mind. She stared at him blankly.