There was something of mystery about the Little Missioner that he found as strange and unanswerable as the thing he had seen in the eyes of the woman in the third car back.

Father Roland had not been asleep when he looked in and saw him hunched down in his corner near the window, just as a little later he had seen the woman crumpled down in hers.

It was as if the same oppressing hand had been upon them in those moments.

And why had Father Roland asked him of all men to go with him as a comrade into the North?
Following this he asked himself the still more puzzling question: Why had he accepted the invitation?
He stared out into the night, as if that night held an answer for him.
He had not noticed until now that the storm had ceased its beating against the window.

It was not so black outside.