"How
much sooner does the other train arrive than we?" she asked of the
conductor.
"Two hours and a half, miss," replied he, courteously; "we gain a half-hour
upon them."
"A half-hour--that is something gained," thought she; "I may reach my
father before that man. Can he be what I suspect?"
On they went--thirty--forty--fifty miles an hour, yet she thought it slow.
Dashing by villages, through meadows, over bridges,--rattling, screaming,
puffing, on their way to the city of New York. In due time they arrived at
the ferry, and after crossing the river were in the city itself. Lizzie
took the first carriage that came to hand, and was soon going briskly
through the streets towards her father's house. The nearer she approached
it, the greater grew her fears; a horrible presentiment that something
awful had occurred, grew stronger and stronger as she drew nearer home. She
tried to brave it off--resist it--crush it--but it came back upon her each
time with redoubled force.
On she went, nearer and nearer every moment, until at last she was in the
avenue itself. She gazed eagerly from the carriage, and thought she
observed one or two persons run across the street opposite her father's
house. It could not be!--she looked again--yes, there was a group beneath
his window.
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