It was her fellow-traveller of that memorable journey down from town!

She closed her eyes a moment.  Once again she could hear the horrifying crash as the engine hurled itself against the track that blocked the metals, feel the swift pall of darkness close about her, rife with a thousand terrors, and then, out of that hideous night, the grip of strong arms folded round her, and a voice, harsh with fear, beating against her ears: 

“Are you hurt? . . .  My God, are you hurt?”

When she opened her eyes again, the little party of three had taken their places and were composedly following the service.  Apparently he had not seen her, and Diana shrank a little closer into the friendly shadow of the pulpit, feeling for the moment an odd, nervous fear of encountering his eyes.

But she soon realised that she need not have been alarmed.  He was evidently quite unaware of her proximity, for his glance never once strayed in her direction, and, gradually gaining courage as she appreciated this, Diana ventured to let her eyes turn frequently during the service towards the pew where the newcomers were sitting.

That they were strangers to the neighbourhood she was sure; she had certainly never seen either of the two women before.  The elder of the two was a plump, round-faced little lady, with bright brown eyes, and pretty, crinkly brown hair lightly powdered with grey.  She was very fashionably dressed, and the careful detail of her toilet pointed to no lack of means.  The younger woman, too, was exquisitely turned out, but there was something so individual about her personality that it dominated everything else, relegating her clothes to a very secondary position.  As in the case of an unusually beautiful gem, it was the jewel itself which impressed one, rather than the setting which framed it round.

She was very fair, with quantities of pale golden hair rather elaborately dressed, and her eyes were blue—­not the keen, brilliant blue of those of the man beside her, but a soft blue-grey, like the sky on a misty summer’s morning.

Her small, exquisite features were clean-cut as a cameo, and she carried herself with a little touch of hauteur—­an air of aloofness, as it were.  There was nothing ungracious about it, but it was unmistakably there—­a slightly emphasised hint of personal dignity.

Diana regarded her with some perplexity; the girl’s face was vaguely familiar to her, yet at the same time she felt perfectly certain that she had never seen her before.  She wondered whether she were any relation to the man with her, but there was no particular resemblance between the two, except that both were fair and bore themselves with a certain subtle air of distinction that rather singled them out from amongst their fellows.

In repose, Diana noticed, the man’s face was grave almost to sternness, and there was a slightly worn look about it as of one who had passed through some fiery discipline of experience and had forced himself to meet its demands.  The lines around the mouth, and the firm closing of the lips, held a suggestion of suffering, but there was no rebellion in the face, rather a look of inflexible endurance.