There's your whistle.

Good-bye!" Jacks leapt into his train, waved a hand from the window, and was whirled away.
For the rest of her journey, Irene seemed occupied with an alternation of grave and amusing thoughts.

At moments she looked seriously troubled.

This passed, and the arrival found her bright as ever; the pink of modern maidenhood, fancy free.
The relatives she was visiting were two elderly ladies, cousins of her mother; representatives of a family native to this locality for hundreds of years.

One of the two had been married, but husband and child were long since dead; the other, devoted to sisterly affection, had shared in the brief happiness of the wife and remained the solace of the widow's latter years.