When the cloud had wept away its fury, and electric fires burned low in the far west, a gentle shower droned on the roof, and lulled by its cadence Beryl fell asleep, still kneeling on the floor, with her head resting on the chair where the cat lay coiled.

In dreams, she wandered with her father and brother upon a Tuscan hillside draped with purple fruited grape vines, and Bertie was crushing a luscious cluster against her thirsty lips, when some noise startled her.  Wide awake, she sprang to her feet, and listened.

“There ain’t no train till daylight, ’cepting it be the through freight.”

“When is that due?”

“Pretty soon; it’s mighty nigh time now, but it don’t stop here; it goes on to the water tank, whar it blows for the railroad bridge.”

“How far is the bridge?”

“Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the tank.”

Beryl had rushed to the window, and looked out, but no one was visible.  She could scarcely mistake that peculiar voice, and was so assured of its identity, that she ran out under the awning and looked up and down the platform in front of the station buildings.  The rain had ceased, but drops still pattered from the tin roof, and a few stars peeped over the ragged ravelled edge of slowly drifting clouds.  By the light of a gas lamp, she saw an old negro man limping away, who held a stick over his shoulder, on which was slung a bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief; and while she stood watching, he vanished in some cul de sac.  With her basket in her hand, and her shawl on her arm, she sped down the track, looking to right and left.

“Bertie!  Bertie!”

Once she fancied she discerned a form flying ahead of her, leaping from cross tie to cross tie to avoid the water, but when she called vehemently, only the sound of her own voice broke the silence.

Was it merely an illusion born of her vivid dream of her brother; and while scarcely awake, had she confounded the tones of a stranger, with those so long familiar?  She could not shake off the conviction that Bertie had really spoken only a few yards from her, and while she stood irresolute, puzzling over the problem, the through freight train dashed by the station and left a trail of sparks and cinders.  To avoid it she sprang on a pile of cross ties beside the track, and when the fiery serpent wound out of sight, she reluctantly retraced her steps.  How long the night seemed!  Would day never dawn again?  She heard the telegraph operator whistling at his work, and as she re-entered the waiting-room, she saw the ticket agent standing in his office.

“What time is it?”

“Half-past two o’clock.  I might as well have locked up as usual, for after all, you did not stay here.”

“Yes I did.”

He eyed her suspiciously.

“I came back from supper, and brought a pitcher of cold tea, thinking you might relish it, but you were not here.  I waited nearly an hour; then I went home.”