Was he one of the killed ?--why didn't somebody tell her ?--why hadn't Mr.Bolton said something ?--why--why--Then the picture of her father's mangled body would rise before her and all thought of Jack pass out of her mind.
As the train rolled into the grimy station she was the first to spring from the car; she knew the way best, and the short cut from the station to where her father lay.

Her face was drawn; her eyes bloodshot from restrained tears--all the color gone from her cheeks.
"You bring Aunt Felicia, Uncle Peter,--and the bags;--I will go ahead," she said, tying her veil so as to shield her face.

"No, I won't wait for anything." News of Ruth's expected arrival had reached the village, and the crowd at the station had increased.

On its inner circle, close to a gate leading from the platform, stood a young man in a slouch hat, with his left wrist bandaged.

The arm had hung in a sling until the train rolled in, then the silk support had been slipped and hidden in his pocket.
Under the slouch hat, the white edge of a bandage was visible which the wearer vainly tried to conceal by pulling the hat further on his head,--this subterfuge also concealed a dark scar on his temple.
Whenever the young man pressed closer to the gate, the crowd would fall back as if to give him room.