Windomshire's wits returned. Why not have a special too? It was the
only way.
"You can order one for me, too," he exclaimed. "At once. It's
imperative."
CHAPTER III
THE MORNING AFTER
The sun was peeping over the hilltops and shooting his merry glance
across the rain-soaked lowlands when Eleanor Thursdale awoke from her
final snatch of slumber. A hundred feverish lapses into restless
subconsciousness had marked the passage of nearly as many miles of
clatter and turmoil. Never before had she known a train to be so
noisy; never before had she lain awake long enough to make the natural
discovery. It seemed hours before she dropped off in the first
surrender to sleep; it seemed hours between the succeeding falls. Her
brain and heart were waging the most relentless battle against peace
and security. She KNEW Joe Dauntless was but two cars ahead, and yet
she wondered if were really there; she wondered and was troubled--oh,
so troubled.
Daylight was creeping in beneath the curtain of the window. She
stretched her fine, tired young body, and for the first time really
felt like going to sleep. The perversity of early morning! Gradually
it dawned upon her that the train was not moving; as far back as she
could recall in her now wakeful spell it occurred to her that the cars
had been standing still and that everything was as quiet as death.
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