He pointed far off toward the westward, along those parallel rails now beginning to gleam in the rays of the sun.  On the outer rim of the desert a black spiral of smoke was curling into the horizon.

“It is coming now; we had but little time to spare.”

“Is that a fast train?  Are you certain it will stop here?”

“To both questions, yes,” he replied, relieved to see her exhibit some returning interest.  “They all stop here for water; it is a long run from this place to Bolton Junction.”

She said nothing in reply, her gaze far down the track where those spirals of smoke were constantly becoming more plainly visible.  In the increasing light of the morning he could observe how the long night had marked her face with new lines of weariness, had brought to it new shadows of care.  It was not alone the dulled, lustreless eyes, but also those hollows under them, and the drawn lips, all combining to tell the story of physical fatigue, and a heart-sickness well-nigh unendurable.  Unable to bear the sight, Winston turned away, walking to the end of the short platform, staring off objectless into the grim desert, fighting manfully in an effort to conquer himself.  This was a struggle, a remorseless struggle, for both of them; he must do nothing, say nothing, which should weaken her, or add an ounce to her burden.  He came back again, his lips firmly closed in repression.

“Our train is nearly here,” he said in lack of something better with which to break the constrained silence.

She glanced about doubtfully, first toward the yet distant train, then up into his face.

“When is the local east due here?  Do you know?”

“Probably an hour later than the express.  At least, I judge so from the time of its arrival at Bolton,” he responded, surprised at the question.  “Why do you ask?”

She did not smile, or stir, except to lean slightly forward, her eyes falling from his face to the platform.

“Would—­would it be too much if I were to ask you to permit me to take this first train alone?” she asked, her voice faltering, her hands trembling where they were clasped in her lap.

His first bewildered surprise precluded speech; he could only look at her in stupefied amazement.  Then something within her lowered face touched him with pity.

“Beth,” he exclaimed, hardly aware of the words used, “do you mean that?  Is it your wish that we part here?

“Oh, no, not that!” and she rose hastily, holding to the back of the bench with one hand, and extending the other.  “Do not put it in that way.  Such an act would be cruel, unwarranted.  But I am so tired, so completely broken down.  It has seemed all night long as though my brain were on fire; every step of the horse has been torture.  Oh, I want so to be alone—­alone!  I want to think this out; I want to face it all by myself.  Merciful God! it seems to me I shall be driven insane unless I can be alone, unless I can find a way into some peace of soul.  Do not blame me; do not look at me like that, but be merciful—­if you still love me, let me be alone.”