This lady was dressed plainly, comfortably, and in good taste.  Her hands, ungloved, were shapely, but red and hard with manual labor.  On the second finger of the left hand was a little gold ring, much thinned by wearing.  The eyes of this lady were regarding the unconscious Marcus obliquely, with a singular expression of mingled recollection and doubt.  Sometimes her glance would drop to the ring, as if that were a link in the chain of her perplexed reflections.  A sudden jolt of the car, as the train ran over a pole which had fallen on the track, roused Marcus to the existence of this face and those eyes.

As he saw the eyes sternly bent on him, he thought that his staring out of the window, past the lady’s profile, might have offended her.  So, with a cough which was meant to serve as an apology for the unintentional rudeness, he turned his face away, and continued his gloomy revery among the odd patterns of the oilcloth on the floor of the aisle.

Still the thin, nervous lady watched him obliquely.

A ride of three quarters of an hour brought them to their destination, as they learned from a preliminary howl of the conductor through the rear door of the car.  The engine bell rang, the whistle screamed, the clack of the wheels gradually became slower.

“Only one minute.  Hurry!” howled the conductor again.

Marcus, Tiffles, and Patching were out of their seats and at the door with American despatch.  Before the car had quite stopped, they had jumped off.  Marcus did not notice that, behind him, was a woman struggling between the two rows of seats with a bandbox, a workbasket, an umbrella, and her hoops, all of which caught in turn on one side or the other.  Nor did the conductor observe that this burdened and distressed lady was trying to make her way out; for, after looking from the rear of the train, and seeing that three persons had landed, and that there was nobody to get on, he concluded that it would be a waste of time to stop a minute, and so rang the bell to go ahead.  The engine driver, equally impatient, jerked the starting lever, and the engine bounded forward like a horse, giving a shock to the train, and nearly upsetting the woman, who was still wrestling with her personal effects between the rows of seats.  With a sudden effort, she freed herself, opened the door, and stood upon the platform.

The engine had wheezed three times, and she hesitated to jump.  She screamed shrilly.  The sound entered the ears of Marcus Wilkeson, who was whisking dust and ashes off his clothes with a handkerchief.  He ran forward, and saw the predicament of his pale and nervous fellow traveller.  She screamed again, as the engine wheezed for the eighth time.

Marcus extended his hand.  “Jump!” said he; “I’ll catch you.”

She did jump, much to the surprise of Marcus and the two lookers on—­thereby indicating decision of character.

Marcus caught her in his arms—­bandbox, basket, and all—­and the train hurried on.