THE MORNING AFTER
The sun was peeping over the hilltops and shooting his merry glance
across the rain-soaked lowlands when Eleanor Thursdale awoke from her
final snatch of slumber. A hundred feverish lapses into restless
subconsciousness had marked the passage of nearly as many miles of
clatter and turmoil. Never before had she known a train to be so noisy;
never before had she lain awake long enough to make the natural
discovery. It seemed hours before she dropped off in the first
surrender to sleep; it seemed hours between the succeeding falls. Her
brain and heart were waging the most relentless battle against peace
and security. She KNEW Joe Dauntless was but two cars ahead, and yet
she wondered if were really there; she wondered and was troubled--oh,
so troubled.
Daylight was creeping in beneath the curtain of the window. She
stretched her fine, tired young body, and for the first time really
felt like going to sleep. The perversity of early morning! Gradually it
dawned upon her that the train was not moving; as far back as she could
recall in her now wakeful spell it occurred to her that the cars had
been standing still and that everything was as quiet as death. She
looked at her watch; it was six o'clock.
"Goodness!" she thought, sitting up suddenly, "what is the matter?" The
curtain flew up and her startled eyes blinked out upon the glaring
world.
There was not a house in sight as far as her eyes could range forward
and behind. Instead, a wide sweep of farm lands partially submerged by
the flood water of many rains. Far away there were brown hills and a
long army of tall trees standing at attention,--a bleak prospect
despite the cheery intentions of the sun, which lurked behind the
hills. Despondent cornstalks of last year's growth stood guard over the
soggy fields; drenched, unhappy tufts of grass, and forlorn but
triumphant reeds arose here and there from the watery wastes, asserting
their victory over a dismantled winter. It was not a glorious view that
met the gaze of the bride on her wedding morn.
Strangest of all, the train was so quiet, so utterly inactive, that an
absurd feeling of loneliness grew upon her, gradually developing into
the alarming certainty that she was the only living person in the
world. Then she heard men's voices outside of the window; her relief
was almost hysterical. Scrambling out of the berth, she began a hasty,
nervous toilet. Three sharp pushes on the button brought the company's
ladies' maid--advertised as a part of the luxury and refinement which
made the flyer "the finest train in the world."
"What has happened? Where are we?" she demanded, upon the entrance of
the sleepy young coloured woman.
"The Pride River bridge is washed away, ma'am," said the maid. "We
can't go on no furder."
"Dear me," sighed Eleanor, turning to be buttoned at the back. "And
where is Pride River bridge--or where was it, I mean?"
"'Bout twenty mile south of Omegon, ma'am--miss. The river's a
sight--highest 'at it's ever been known. It's all over the bottoms.
This here train came mighty nigh running into it, too. A boy flagged it
just in time, 'bout five o'clock."
"Have we been standing here a whole hour?"
"Yes, miss; right here. They say we can't go back till the section boss
has examined the track in Baxter's Cut. Seems as though there's some
danger of a washout back yander."
"Do you mean to say we are likely to stay here indefinitely?" gasped
Eleanor. "Ouch! Be careful, please!"
"Oh, it won't be long. The porter says they've sent back over the line
to telegraft for the section men."
"Good Heavens, is there no station here?"
"No, ma'am; five miles back. They's one jest across the river, but it
might as well be in Africa."
"Be quick, please, and then send the conductor to me--and the porter
too," urged Eleanor, in distress.
The porter was the first to arrive.
"Porter, will you go to Car 7 and see if the occupant of lower 4 is
awake? I am quite sure that is right, but if it should happen to be
wrong, please let me know at once."
"Yes, miss; and what shall I tell her?"
"Ahem! It's a--a gentleman. Ask him to--to come to the rear end of the
train. That's all. Oh, conductor, how soon will we be on the track
again?" The conductor was standing in the door, evidently impressed by
the summons from the drawing-room.
"We're not off the track, madam. There is no danger--just a little
delay. I have telegraphed to see if I can have a relief train come down
from Omegon and pick us up after we've been ferried across the river."
"This is the very worst road I've ever travelled over--the very worst,"
was Eleanor's natural complaint. "When will that get us to Omegon?"
"We should be there in an hour after leaving here."
"And when did you say we'd leave here?"
"I didn't say. I don't know."
"Who does know, if you don't?" demanded Eleanor.
"God, I presume," observed the harassed conductor, turning away with
the realisation that he had erred in coming to her in the first place.
The porter returned at that moment.
"Nobody in that section, ma'am. It was sold, but the party didn't show
up."
"Good Heavens, you--but he DID show up. I--I know he did. Look again.
Try--but wait! Ask for Mr. Dauntless. Ask quietly, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her nerves at highest tension, Miss Thursdale made her way toward the
rear platform of the train. She passed down the curtained aisles of two
coaches, wondering how people could sleep so soundly in a crisis like
this. A porter politely opened a door and she slipped out upon the last
platform. As far as the eye could reach stretched the roadbed and its
telegraph poles, finally disappearing in the haze of the morning.
Wide-spread flood, soaking the flat--
A sharp cry of amazement came from the track just below her. She looked
down and into the eyes of Anne Courtenay, the governess. For a full
minute they stared blankly at each other, apparently bereft of all the
agencies that fall to the lot of woman.
"Miss Courtenay!" finally came from the lips of the girl on the
platform.
"Miss Thursdale!" murmured Anne, reaching out to support herself
against the bumper. Other words failed to come for the time being. In
sheer despair, neither could accomplish more than a pallid smile. To
the reader is left the privilege of analysing the thoughts which surged
through the brains of the bewildered young women,--the fears, the
doubts, the resentments.
"Where--where have you been?" at last fell from Miss Thursdale's lips.
"Been?" repeated Miss Courtenay, vaguely. "Oh, yes; I've been taking a
walk--a constitutional. I always do."
Eleanor stared harder than ever. "All this distance?" she murmured.
"Down the track for half a mile, Miss Thursdale."
"Are--were you on this train?" ejaculated Eleanor.
"Yes--but I--I---" stammered Anne, her face growing red with rising
resentment. "I did not think this of you."
"What do you mean? It is--May I ask why you are here, Miss Courtenay?
It is most extraordinary."
"It is very easily explained," said Miss Courtenay, after a moment's
battle with veracity. "My aunt is very ill in Vancouver." To herself
she was saying: "I must keep her from really seeing Harry. She knows
what he has done--in heaven's name, how could she have found it
out?--and she is waiting to catch us if she can. She has followed us!
Thank goodness, I've seen her first."
Eleanor was not blessed with the possibility of such an explanation for
Anne's presence; she could only believe that the governess had been
suddenly called to the bedside of her aunt--a real person, she happened
to know, and very rich. But how was she to account for her own
astonishing departure from home? Miss Courtenay had seen her at dinner;
nothing had been said regarding "an unexpected journey." In truth,
Eleanor remembered with inflexible accuracy that she had announced her
intention to go to bed with a headache. Then, what must Miss Courtenay
be thinking at this very instant?
An inspiration came to her like a flash. "I--I am running away, Miss
Courtenay," she cried, with a brave attempt to appear naive.
"I don't understand," murmured poor Anne.
"Of course you don't," said Eleanor, inspiration heaping itself up
within her. "Not really, you know, but just for a few days' rest.
Mother thinks I'm looking wretchedly. We didn't say anything about
it--except to Mr. Windomshire, of course. He knows. Perhaps he will run
up to Omegon in a day or two to see me. It's very quiet there, and I'll
get a good rest. The hotel is delightful--facing the lake. And the
bathing's good. Dear me, I'm so sorry about your aunt." Miss
Courtenay's eyes actually blinked with perplexity. This was a most
staggering bit of news. Eleanor flushed painfully under the gaze of the
other; utter rout followed. She stammered some flimsy excuse and dashed
back into the car. To herself she was crying: "I must find Joe and tell
him to keep out of sight. Oh, how awful this is!"
Just inside the door she met her porter.
"There's nobody named Dauntless on the train, miss. A gentleman who
said he was his friend thinks he missed the train perhaps."
"He--he--oh, I see!" said Eleanor, suddenly perceiving method in Joe's
reluctance to answer to his own name. "Thank you. That's all." Then, to
herself: "He has seen Miss Courtenay, and she HASN'T seen him,--that's
plain." She handed the porter a coin.
"I went to the berth you mentioned, ma'am, and I asked through the
curtains: 'Is Mr. Dauntless in here?' There was a lady in the upper,
miss, an'--an'--well, I'll never forget what she said to me." Eleanor
had gone before he concluded, determined to unearth her cautious lover,
if possible.
Anne caught the porter before he could follow.
"See here, porter," she whispered softly, "go to Car 5, section 6, and
call its occupant. Tell him NOT to get up. Do you understand? NOT to
get up!"
It goes without saying, of course, that all efforts, secret or
otherwise, failed to locate the missing men. The distracted brides,
each trying to run away from the other in a way, were in a state of
collapse, necessarily subdued but most alarming. The Rev. Henry Derby,
a nice-looking young fellow, who looked more like a tennis player than
a minister of the gospel, eventually identified his old friend's ladye
faire, and introduced himself with a discreetness that proved him to
have been in college at the proper period and in a somewhat different
class from that which he now sought to lead. In the privacy of her
drawing-room the bewitching but distressed young woman discussed the
situation with the man who had been chosen to perform the clandestine
ceremony in the far-away town of Omegon. Derby, coming on from his
eastern home in loyal acquiescence to his friend's request, had
designedly taken this train, it being understood that Dauntless would
board it at Fenlock with his fair conspirator. We all know why
Dauntless failed to perform his part of the agreement; Derby, with the
perspicuity of a college man, finally advanced a reason for his
inexplicable failure to appear. Eleanor had begun tearfully to accuse
him of abandoning her at the last moment; Mr. Derby indignantly scouted
the idea. When she related their chase in the motor and their escape
from Windomshire, he formed his conclusions, and they were in the main
remarkably correct.
"I'm afraid, Miss Thursdale, that your disappointed lover, our ancient
enemy, the Englishman, was not to be overcome so neatly. Has it
occurred to you that he may have reached Fenlock before the train left,
and that he is the explanation for Joe's non-appearance?"
"You--you don't mean that he has killed---" she was gasping, growing
whiter and whiter. He hastened to reassure her.
"Oh, no; not so bad as that. But it is possible and quite probable that
he--if, as you say, he was on to your--I should say, aware of your
flight, it is probable that he succeeded in detaining Joe in Fenlock.
That would---" "Impossible! Joe wouldn't let him!" she cried
indignantly.
"Perhaps Joe couldn't help himself. Such things happen. At any rate,
you'll understand, the despised enemy could have---"
"Mr. Windomshire is not a despised enemy. He's a VERY nice man, Mr.
Derby," she interrupted.
"Certainly, Miss Thursdale. What I meant to say was, that he was
morally sure of preventing the wedding if he could only keep you far
enough apart. Now that is probably what he has done. You can't marry
Joe in Omegon or anywhere else unless he is there and not in Fenlock."
"I see. Well, I'll go back to Fenlock!" she exclaimed emphatically, a
little line of determination and stubbornness settling about the
erstwhile trembling lips.
"I admire your loyalty," he said warmly. "Just at present, however, we
are water-bound here, and we've got to make the best of it. I fancy Joe
will telegraph before long."
"If--if he hasn't been hurt. Oh, Mr. Derby, they may have fought. It
would be just like them. It may be dreadfully serious. You don't know
as much about men as I do. They're terribly---"
"Please don't worry, Miss Thursdale," he said, smiling in recollection
of his football days. "You'll find there's been nothing bloody about
all this. The delay is vexatious, but only temporary, I'm sure."
"I'll marry Joe Dauntless now if it has to be delayed a hundred years,"
she cried, her eyes flashing.
During the next half-hour poor Derby ran errands, carried messages and
complaints to every one of the train men, finally administering
smelling salts when it occurred to Eleanor that Joe might have fallen
off the train during the night.
In the meantime Anne Courtenay was having a sad half-hour of it. She
had no one to turn to, no one to think it all out for her; she was
alone and in great despair. The porter had failed to find the tall
Englishman; the conductor had been equally unsuccessful; she herself
had searched in vain. His trunks and hers were in the baggage car, she
found, but there was no sign of the man himself. She was a
self-reliant, sensible young woman, accustomed to the rigours of the
world, but this was quite too overwhelming. The presence on the train
of the girl that she had, to all intents and purposes, cruelly
deceived, did not add to her comfort. As a matter of fact, she was
quite fond of Eleanor; they were warm friends despite the vagaries of
love. Miss Courtenay, among other things, began to wonder, as she sat
in her tumbled berth, if retribution had more to do with this than
chance.
"Could he have fallen off the train?" she wondered, with a sudden chill
of apprehension. The next instant she was calling to the porter. "Send
the conductor to me at once. My friend has fallen off the train--out of
his window, perhaps. I am quite sure of it. I want an engine to go back
and look for him. Hurry, please! don't stand there grinning."
The Pullman conductor came up at that moment.
"Are you the young lady who was asking for Mr. Dauntless?" he asked.
"Dauntless?" she murmured. "No, I'm asking for an engine. Have you--"
"There's another young lady asking for an engine, too, madam. It's
impossible."
"Am I to understand that I shall have to walk?--Oh," with a sudden
start, "is--is there a Mr. Dauntless missing too?"
"Seems so. He's gone."
Anne dropped the curtains in his face, and then stared at them for a
long time. Gradually she began to comprehend. A panic of fear came over
her.
"They have met somewhere and quarrelled! Mr. Dauntless was
jealous--terribly so. He may have--good Heavens!--he may have killed
him in the mistaken idea that Harry was running away with Eleanor.
She's on this very train! It's perfectly natural. Porter," she called,
"there has been foul play!"
"Gee, miss! That's what the other lady is saying!"
"The other--then it is a double murder! Don't laugh! It's--it's--"
"Don't cry, miss; it's all right." She looked at him piteously for a
moment, and then smiled at the absurdity of her conjecture.
A tousled head came from between the curtains of the upper berth
opposite, and a sleepy, hoarse voice demanded:
"How long will we be here? What's the latest?"
"We're on time, sah," replied the porter, from sheer force of habit.
"The devil we are! Say, I've got to be in Omegon by ten o'clock. I'll
sue this infernal road," snarled the irascible party, snapping the
curtains together. It transpired that he was an agent for a medical
college, travelling to Omegon on a most unwholesome but edifying
mission. He was going up to take possession of the body of a man who
had willed his carcass to the school. As the poor chap was not yet
dead, but hopelessly ill, the desire for haste on the part of the agent
may be misunderstood. It seems, however, that there was some talk of
interference by relatives--and the disquieting prospect of a new will.
"If I were you, miss," counselled the porter, "I'd go out and take a
little walk. The sun is up, an' it's fine. The relief train will be
here 'fore long--an' you all will be rowed acrost the river. Don't
worry."
"But I want to go back the way I came," expostulated Anne, feebly. "I
can't go on without--until I know what has happened to--to Mr.
Windomshire." She took his advice, however, and made her way to the
rear platform.
A number of disgruntled passengers were now abroad, and complaining
bitterly of the delay. There was no hope of breakfast until the train
reached Omegon, where a dining car was waiting. She stood on the
platform and looked gloomily back over the long stretch of roadbed.
"Isn't that an engine coming?" some one asked excitedly at her side.
She turned and found Miss Thursdale, attended by a gentleman, to whom
the question was addressed.
"I believe--yes, it is, Miss Thursdale."
"Then--then we'll all be taken back to the city," she said dejectedly.
"I fancy not. It's probably bringing relief."
"They--they may be bringing bad news," Eleanor groaned. "Oh, Miss
Courtenay, how do you do--again? How is your--your grandmother, wasn't
it?"
"I--I--yes, I think so--I mean, I think she's no better. They may be
bringing his body!" said the other girl, her eyes fixed on the distant
locomotive.
"Oh!" almost screamed Eleanor, and stared wildly without words.
A brakeman far down the track was flagging the locomotive; it came to a
stop, and several men were seen climbing down from the cab. Two of them
eventually disengaged themselves from the little group and hurried
forward. One was carrying a suitcase, and both walked as though they
were either in pain or attended by extreme old age.
"Why--why--" gasped Eleanor, "it's Joe!"
"And--yes, thank God, it's Har--Mr. Windomshire," almost shrieked Anne.
Then they turned and looked at each other in confusion. Neither had the
courage to carry out the desire to fly to the arms of the man she
longed to see more than all else in the world. They felt themselves to
be caught red-handed.