She arrived there only time enough to see the
train move away; and there, standing on the platform, looking at her with a
sort of triumphant satisfaction, was the man with the keen grey eyes.
"Stop! stop!" cried she.
"Too late, miss," said a bystander, sympathizingly; "just too late--no
other train for three hours."
"Three hours!" said Lizzie, despairingly; "three hours! Yet I must be
patient--there is no remedy," and she endeavoured to banish her fears and
occupy herself in reading the advertisements that were posted up about the
station. It was of no avail, that keen-looking man with his piercing grey
eyes haunted her; and she could not avoid associating him in her thoughts
with her father and McCloskey. What was he doing on the train, and why did
he regard her with that look of triumphant satisfaction.
Those were to her the three longest hours of her life. Wearily and
impatiently she paced up and down the long saloon, watching the hands of
the clock as they appeared to almost creep over the dial-plate. Twenty
times during those three hours did she compare the clock with her watch,
and found they moved on unvaryingly together.
At last the hour for the departure of the train arrived; and seated in the
car, she was soon flying at express speed on the way towards her home.
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