OCR Text |
Show IThe Wreck of the j j Limited j i Br EDWARD LEVINE ? j . - ! (. 1923, Western Newspaper Union.) nCO IT is you!" ! Florence Neasden made way for Enderby, and he sat down beside her. It was twelve years since he had seen this woman whom he had loved more than any one else In the world. Now the sight of her brought back the past in a surging flood. "You are not married?" "My husband died last year. And you?" j "I have a wife and two children." ; They talked. She was going to Phil- ! adelphia to stay with a married sister. sis-ter. Her marriage had not been hap- I y. His? Enderby was silent, but he thought bitterly of the shrewish wife at home, and the two children, spiritually spirit-ually hers, not his. All his soul went ut in a rush of gratitude that be bad keen permitted to see Florence again. "What fools we were to part !" "What fools!" And they chattered like children, conscious that they might never see each other again. He wondered whether he might ask her for her address. And while he wondered there came a dull grinding of the brakes, a lurch, screams oblivion. It was growing dark when he opened his eyes, luminous twilight, and a profound silence. He was lying ly-ing In the wreck of the train. The ther passengers had escaped or been removed. He was utterly alone. All about him were the charred timbers ef his coach. Strange that he had escaped the flames ; that he had been overlooked by the rescuers. His mind was hazy, and It was only with an effort that he could remember what had happened. He had met Florence, he had intended asking her address ; now she was gone forever. He would never find her again. He got up, relieved to find that he kad escaped Injury, except for the concussion .that had left him confused con-fused In mind. He was surprised to recognize the familiar landmarks. He had thought the train had carried him many miles on his business journey, jour-ney, but he was surprised to discover that he was, after all, only five or six miles from home. It was confusing. There was no house near the scene of the wreck. . . . His head was aching, . . . He started off to walk home. He hoped the news of the disaster had not reached Anne. She would be worrying about him. He hoped he did not look unusual. Anne went Into hysterics at the least thing. He must tell her there had been a slight accident. Absorbed In his plans for avoiding a scene, he hardly knew how far he kad walked. He was surprised to find himself In the familiar street. He saw his house before him. A great flood of bitterness swept over him again as he thought of his futile life, of the happiness with Florence that he had missed. He opened the hall door. He heard his wife in the living room. She was talking to a man, a stranger. He stopped at the door a moment and listened. lis-tened. "Thank heaven John left us all comfortably com-fortably off," Anne was saying. "He did that much for his family, at any rate." , "You must have had a hard time with him, poor little woman," said the stranger In a purring voice. Anne shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, well, the past ii past," she answered. Suddenly Enderby realized that she kelleved him dead, killed in the wreck. Anne wag taking the news calmly, he thought with renewed bitterness. In a few moments he would walk in and urprise them. But who was the an? "Thank heaven he wasn't attached to his children," Anne went on. "They ardljr missed him. No, he wasn't a good husband and father, but . . ." Bnderby started violently as he saw the man draw Anne toward him and her head go down on his shoulder. He was about to rush in when he heard him say : "Ton must forget about last summer, sum-mer, Anne, and look to the future. You have been a widow nearly a year mow, and " Nearly a year? John Enderby staggered, stag-gered, looked about him, conscious of a hideous unreality. And then . . . Florence Neasden. . . . "John, dear, I have been trying so hard to make you see me and under-itand. under-itand. Ton are not needed here any longer, John. Come, dearl" And then he understood. |