eyes and staring at him glassily.

"Are you hurt, woman?" he asked.

She made a guttural response which might have meant anything, but she
proved that she was uninjured by getting on her feet. She stared at
her disturber bewilderedly, then, perceiving her bonnet, stooped to
pick it up, and stood for a moment trying sleepily to poke it into
shape and readjust its tawdry plumage. But all of a sudden she gave a
start and began looking around her with recovered energy. She missed
something, evidently. Gorham followed the direction of her gaze as it
shifted, and as his glance met the line of the road he perceived a
little figure standing in the middle of the railway crossing. It was a
child--her child, without doubt--and as he said so to himself the roar
of an approaching train, coupled with the sound of the whistle, made
him start with horror. The late express from town was due. Gorham
remembered that there was a considerable curve in the railroad at this
point. The woman had not perceived the situation--she was too far in
the shade--but Gorham from where he stood commanded a clear view of
the track.

Without an instant's hesitation, he sprang forward and ran at full
speed. His first thought was that the train was very near. He ran with
all his might and main, his eyes fixed on the little white figure, and
shouting to warn it of its danger. Suddenly there flashed before his
mind with vividness the remembrance of John Baker, and he recalled his
argument at the Lawfords'. But he did not abate his speed. The child
had plumped itself down on one of the sleepers, and was apparently
playing with some pebbles. It was on the farther track, and, startled
by his cries and by the clang of the approaching train, looked up at