“Yes, I know,” Howard replied.  “The station master will see to her.  Come on to the carriage.  The horses are plunging like mad.  Sam can’t hold them much longer.”

He moved away, but Jack stood still, for a second flash of lightning had shown him Eloise’s face again.  It was very pale, and tears, as well as rain, were on her cheeks.

“Can I do anything for you?” he said, opening his umbrella, and holding it over her.

His voice was that of a friend, and Eloise recognized it as such, and answered, “I don’t know.  I am a stranger.  I want to go to Mrs. Biggs’s.  Do you know where she lives?”

“I am a stranger, too, and have never heard of Mrs. Biggs,” Jack replied; “but the station agent will know.  He ought to be here.  Hallo! you, sir!  Why are you not attending to your business?  Here is a young lady,” he called out, as the agent at last appeared coming slowly toward them, holding a lantern with one hand, and his cap on with the other.

“I didn’t s’pose there was anybody here but Mr. Crompton’s friend.  Who is she?  Where does she want to go?  There ain’t no conveyance here for nowhere at this hour,” he said, throwing the light of his lantern fully on Eloise, whose face grew, if possible, a shade paler, and whose voice shook as she replied, “I want to go to Mrs. Biggs’s.  I am to board with her.  I am the new school teacher, Miss Smith.  Can I walk there when the storm is over?  How far is it?”

“Great guns!” Jack said under his breath, holding the whole of his umbrella now over the girl instead of half, while the agent replied, “Walk to Widder Biggs’s!  I’d say not.  It’s two good miles from here.  You’ll have to sit in the depot till it stops rainin’ a little, and I’ll find you a place till mornin’.  Tim Biggs was here when the train or’to of come, and said he was expectin’ a schoolmarm.  Be you her?”

“Yes, oh, yes; thank you.  Let me get into the station as soon as I can.  My umbrella is gone, and I am so cold and wet,” Eloise said, with catches in her breath between the words.

“Hold on a minit,” the agent continued.  “The Crompton carriage goes within quarter of a mile of the Widder Biggs’s.  I guess the young man will take you.  I will ask him.”

“No, let me.  I’m sure he will,” Jack interrupted him, and thrusting his umbrella into Eloise’s hand, he stumbled through the darkness to the corner where he heard Howard calling to him, “Jack, Jack, where in thunder are you?”

“Here,” Jack replied, making for the voice, and saying to Howard when he reached him, “Howard, that’s Eloise Smith, the girl I wrote you about,—­the school teacher.  She hasn’t a dry rag on her.  Her umbrella is lost.  She wants to go to Widow Biggs’s.  The agent says it is not far from the Crompton Place.  Can’t we take her?  Of course we can.  I’ll go for her.”

He hurried off as well as he could, leaving Howard in no very amiable frame of mind.  He had laughed at Jack’s rhapsodies over Eloise Smith, and said to himself, “His interest in her will never be very lasting, no matter how pretty she is.  Jack Harcourt and a basket-boarder!  Ha, ha!  Rich.  Still, I’d like to see her.”