Two hours later, just as the porter had notified them that Warrener Station would be in sight in five minutes, the young man of the opposite section returned to the car.  He looked tired, very anxious, and his face was paler and the sad expression more pronounced than before.  The train-conductor stopped him to speak of some telegrams that had been sent, and both ladies noted the respect which the railway official threw into the tone in which he spoke.  The card-players stopped their game and went up to ask after the frozen men.  It was not until the whistle was sounding for the station that he stood before them and with a grave and courteous bow held forth Mrs. Rayner’s silver flask.

“It was a blessing to one poor fellow at least, and I thank you for him, madame,” he said.

“I have been so anxious.  I wanted to do something.  Did you not get my message, Mr.——?” she asked, with intentional pause that he might supply the missing name.

“Indeed there was nothing we could ask of you,” he answered, totally ignoring the evident invitation.  “I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, but we had abundant help, and you really could not have reached the car in the face of this gale.  Good-morning, madame.”  And with that he raised his fur travelling-cap and quickly turned to his section and busied himself strapping up his various belongings.

“The man must be a woman-hater,” she whispered to Miss Travers, “He’s going to get out here, too.  Who can he be?”

There was still a moment before the train would stop at the platform, and she was not to be beaten so easily.  Bending partly across the aisle, she spoke again: 

“You have been so kind to those poor fellows that I feel sure you must be of the army.  I think I told you I am Mrs. Rayner, of Fort Warrener.  May we not hope to see you there?”

A deep flush rose to his forehead, suffusing his cheeks, and passed as quickly away.  His mouth twitched and trembled.  Gazing at him in surprise and trouble, Nellie Travers saw that his face was full of pain and was turning white again.  He half choked before he could reply:  he spoke low, and yet distinctly, and the words were full of sadness: 

“It—­it is not probable that we shall meet at all.”

And with that he turned away.

II.

Even in the excitement attendant upon their reception at the station neither Mrs. Rayner nor her sister could entirely recover from the surprise and pain which the stranger’s singular words had caused.  So far from feeling in the least rebuffed, Mrs. Rayner well understood from his manner that not the faintest discourtesy was intended.  There was not a symptom of rudeness, not a vestige of irritation or haste, in his tone.  Deep embarrassment, inexpressible sadness even, she read in the brief glimpse she had of his paling face.  It was all a mystery to her