The night express from Rochester to Albany was crowded. Every car was
full, or seemed to be, and the clamorous bell rang out its first summons
for all to get on board, just as a pale, frightened-looking woman,
bearing in her slender arms a sleeping boy, whose little face showed
signs of suffering, stepped upon the platform of the rear carriage, and
looked wistfully in at the long, dark line of passengers filling every
seat. Wearily, anxiously, she had passed through every car, beginning at
the first, her tired eyes scanning each occupant, as if mutely begging
some one to have pity on her ere exhausted nature failed entirely, and
she sank fainting to the floor. None had heeded that silent appeal,
though many had marked the pallor of her girlish face, and the extreme
beauty of the baby features nestling in her bosom. She could not hold
out much longer, and when she reached the last car and saw that, too,
was full, the delicate chin quivered perceptibly, and a tear glistened
in the long eyelashes, sweeping the colorless cheek.
Slowly she passed up the aisle until she came to where there was indeed
a vacant seat, only a gentleman's shawl was piled upon it, and he, the
gentleman, looking so unconcernedly from the window, and apparently
oblivious of her close proximity to him, would not surely object to her
sitting there. How the tired woman did wish he would turn toward her,
would give some token that she was welcome, would remove his heavy
plaid, and say to her courteously, "Sit here, madam." But no, his eyes
were only intent on the darkness without; he had no care for her, Adah,
though he knew she was there.
The oil lamp was burning dimly, and the girl's white face was lost in
the shadow, when the young man first glanced at her, so he had no
suspicion of the truth, though a most indefinable sensation crept over
him as he heard the timid footfall, and the rustling of female garments
as Adah Hastings drew near with her boy in her arms. He knew she stopped
before him; he knew, too, why she stopped, and for a brief instant his
better nature bade him be a man and offer her what he knew she wanted.
But only for an instant, and then his selfishness prevailed. "He would
not seem to see her, he would not be bothered by a woman with a brat. If
there was anything he hated it was a woman traveling with a young one, a
squalling young one. They would never catch his wife, when he had one,
doing a thing so unladylike. A car was no place for children. He hated
the whole of them."