The whistling of the approaching engine, which could be heard distinctly now, had no apparent effect on her.

For ten minutes he sat staring at all he could see of her--the dark glow of her hair and the one ghostly white hand.

He moved, he shuffled his feet, he coughed; he made sure she knew he was there, but she did not look up.

He was sorry that he had not brought Father Roland with him in the first place, for he was certain that if the Little Missioner had seen the grief and the despair in her eyes--the hope almost burned out--he would have gone to her and said things which he had found it impossible to say when the opportunity had come to him.

He rose again from his seat as the powerful snow-engine and its consort coupled on to the train.