“Oh, I thought you had fallen under the train!” she said in an awed voice.  “It was going so fast!  But you did not get off, after all, did you?  Now, what can you do?  It is too bad, and all on my account.”

“Yes, I got off,” he said doggedly, sitting down opposite her and pulling his tie straight.  “I got off, but it wasn’t altogether satisfactory, and so I got on again.  There wasn’t much time for getting on gracefully, but you’ll have to excuse it.  The fact is, I couldn’t bear to leave you alone just yet.  I couldn’t rest until I knew you had passed the North Side Station.  Besides, I had forgotten to give you any money.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t!” she protested, her eyes eloquent with feeling.

“Please don’t say that,” he went on eagerly.  “I can get off later and take the down train, you know.  Really, the fact is, I couldn’t let you go right out of existence this way without knowing more about you.”

“Oh!” she gasped, turning a little white about the lips, and drawing closer into her corner.

“Don’t feel that way,” he said.  “I’m not going to bother you.  You couldn’t think that of me, surely.  But isn’t it only fair that you should show me a little consideration?  Just give me an address, or something, where I could let you know if I heard of anything that concerned you.  Of course it isn’t likely I shall, but it seems to me you might at least let me know you are safe.”

“I will promise you that,” she said earnestly.  “You know I’m going to send you back these things.”  She touched the cloak and the hat.  “You might need them to keep you from having to explain their absence,” she reminded him.

The moments fairly flew.  They passed the North Side Station, and were nearing the flag station.  After that there would be no more stops until past midnight.  The young man knew he must get off.

“I have almost a mind to go on to Chicago and see that you are safely located,” he said with sudden daring.  “It seems too terrible to set you adrift in the world this way.”

“Indeed, you must not,” said the young woman, with a gentle dignity.  “Have you stopped to think what people—­what your mother, for instance—­would think of me if she were ever to know I had permitted such a thing?  You know you must not.  Please don’t speak of it again.”

“I cannot help feeling that I ought to take care of you,” he said, but half convinced.

“But I cannot permit it,” she said firmly, lifting her trustful eyes to smile at him.

“Will you promise to let me know if you need anything?”

“No, I’m afraid I cannot promise even that,” she answered, “because, while you have been a true friend to me, the immediate and awful necessity is, I hope, past.”