He had persuaded himself to believe that she had been in very great distress.

He had acted honestly and with chivalric intentions.

And yet, after what had passed between him and Father Roland in the smoking compartment--and in view of his failure to establish a proof of his own convictions--he was determined to keep this particular event of the night to himself.
A loud voice began to announce that the moment of departure had arrived, and as the passengers began scrambling back into their coaches, Father Roland led the way to the baggage car.
"They're going to let us ride with the dunnage so there won't be any mistake or time lost when we get to Thoreau's," he said.
They climbed up into the warm and lighted car, and after the baggage-man in charge had given them a sour nod of recognition the first thing that David noticed was his own and Father Roland's property stacked up near the door.

His own belongings were a steamer trunk and two black morocco bags, while Father Roland's share of the pile consisted mostly of boxes and bulging gunny sacks that must have weighed close to half a ton.

Near the pile was a pair of scales, shoved back against the wall of the car.
David laughed queerly as he nodded toward them.