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Updated: May 16, 2025
I dressed myself in plain clothes, and we took our tickets on the railway for Yateland, being the nearest station to the village in which Priscilla's parents lived. THE train stopped, as usual, at the big town of Waterbank. Supporting herself by her needle, while she was still unprovided with a situation, Priscilla had been at work late in the night she was tired and thirsty.
I only waited to pour the soda-water into a glass but the train was moving as I left the refreshment room. The porters stopped me when I tried to jump on to the step of the carriage. I was left behind. As soon as I had recovered my temper, I looked at the time-table. We had reached Waterbank at five minutes past one.
The train by which I had proposed to follow her had left Waterbank. The next train that arrived was for London. I took my place in it still without any plan in my head. At Charing Cross a friend met me. He said, "You're looking miserably ill. Come and have a drink." I went with him. The liquor was what I really wanted; it strung me up, and cleared my head. He went his way, and I went mine.
Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes flashed with anger. I stepped forward and she saw my face. My face silenced her. I spoke in the fewest words I could find. "I have been to the cutler's shop at Waterbank," I said. "There is the unfinished inscription on the knife, complete in your handwriting. I could hang you by a word. God forgive me I can't say the word."
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