There is a shrill whistle, and then, slowly at first, the train moves out of the station.

A few minutes more, and the long walls, the numerous arches, are all left behind, and they are out in the blinding sunlight, hurrying through the clear, golden day as though life and death depended upon its speed.

On, on, past the green meadows, where the hedgerows were filled with woodbines and wild roses, and the clover filled the air with fragrance; past gray old churches whose tapering spires pointed to heaven; past quiet homesteads sleeping in the sunshine; past silent, quaint villages and towns; past broad rivers and dark woods.

Yet never once did the silent woman raise her eyes, never once did she look from the windows at the glowing landscape that lay on either side.

Once, and once only, she caught a glimpse of the golden sunlight, and she turned away with a faint, sick, shuddering sigh.
Her fellow-passengers looked wonderingly at her.