Mallory nodded and tipped him recklessly.

“That’s it.  You find the lady a comfortable corner seat.  I’ll look after myself.”

He turned back to Nan.

“I’ve told the porter to find you a good seat.  I think you ought to be all right as the trains aren’t crowded.  Good-bye.”

Nan held out her hand impulsively.

“Good-bye,” she said.  “And, once more, thank you ever so much.”

His hand closed firmly round hers.

“There’s no need.  I’m only too glad to have been of any service.”

He raised his hat and moved away and Nan could see the slight limp of which he had spoken—­his “souvenir of hell.”

The porter fulfilled his obligations and bestowed her in an empty first-class carriage, even exerting himself to fetch a newspaper boy from whom she purchased a small sheaf of magazines.  The train started and very soon the restaurant attendant came along.  Since she detested the steamy odour of cooking which usually pervades the dining-car of a train, she gave instructions that her lunch should be served to her in her own compartment.  This done, she settled down to the quiet monotony of the journey, ate her lunch in due course, and finally drowsed over a magazine until she woke with a start to find the train at a standstill.  Thinking she had arrived at St. David’s Station, where she must change on to another line, she sprang up briskly.  To her amazement she found they were not at a station at all.  Green fields sloped away from the railway track and there was neither house nor cottage in sight.  The voices of the guard and ticket-collector in agitated conference sounded just below and Nan thrust her head out of the window.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.  “Have we run into something?”

The guard looked up irritably.  Then, seeing the charming face bent above him, he softened visibly.  Beauty may be only skin deep, but it has an amazing faculty for smoothing the path of its possessor.

“Pretty near, miss.  There’s a great piece of timber across the line.  Luckily the driver saw it and just pulled up in time, and a miss is as good as a mile, isn’t it?”

“How horrible!” ejaculated Nan.  “Who d’you think put it there?”

“One of they Bolshies, I expect.  We’ve got more of them in England than we’ve any need for.”

“I hope you’ll soon get the line clear?”

The guard shook his head discouragingly.

“Well, it’ll take a bit of time, miss.  Whoever did, the job did it thoroughly, and even when we get clear we’ll have to go slow and keep a sharp look-out.”

“Then I shall miss my connection at Exeter—­on to Abbencombe by the South-Western?”

“I’m afraid you will, miss.”

Her face fell.

“It’s better than missing a limb or two, or your life, maybe,” observed the guard with rebuke in his tones.

She nodded and tipped him.