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And on the seat opposite her own； and more important by far than all this； snug in a little blue blanket； small face still； small eyes closed…something to cherish； something to love。 All there was in the world to love。 All there was to go on for； along that wavy line outside。
Yes； how different it was now。 And…how infinitely preferable the first time had been to this one。 Fear rode with her now。
There hadn't been fear then。 There hadn't been a seat； there hadn't been a bite to eat； there had only been seventeen cents。 And just ahead； unguessed； rushing ever nearer with the miles； there had been calamity； horror； the beating of the wings of death。
But there hadn't been fear。 There hadn't been this gnawing inside。 There hadn't been this strain and counterstrain； this pulling one way and pulling the other。 There had been the calm； the certainty； of going along the right way； the only way there was to go。
The wheels chattered； as they always chatter； on every train that has ever run。 But saying now； to her ear alone：
〃You'd better go back； you'd better go back；
Clicketty…clack； clicketty…clack；
Stop while you can； you still can go back。〃
A very small part of her moved； the least part of her moved。 Her thumb unbracketed； and her four fingers opened slowly； and the tight white knot they'd made for hours past dissolved。 There in its center； exposed now…
An Indian…head penny。
A Lincoln…head penny。
A buffalo nickel。
A Liberty…head dime。
Seventeen cents。 She even knew the dates on them by heart； by now。
〃Clicketty…clack；
Stop and go back；
You still have the time；
Turn and go back。〃
Slowly the fingers folded up and over again； the thumb crossed over and locked them in place。
Then she took the whole fist and struck it distractedly against her forehead and held it there for a moment where it had struck。
She stood up suddenly； and tugged at one of the pieces of luggage； and swivelled it around； so that its outermost corner was now inward。 The 〃P H〃 disappeared。 Then she did it to the piece below。 The second 〃P H〃 disappeared。
The fear wouldn't disappear。 It wasn't just stencilled on a corner of her； it was all over her。
There was a light knock outside the door； and she started as violently as though it had been a resounding crash。
〃Who's there？〃 she gasped。
A porter's voice answered； 〃Five mo' minutes fo' Caulfield。〃
She reared from the seat； and ran to the door； flung it open。 He was already going down the passage。 〃No； wait！ It can't be…〃
〃It sho' enough is； though； ma'm。〃
〃So quickly； though。 I didn't think…〃
He smiled back at her indulgently。 〃It always es between Clarendon and Hastings。 That's the right place fo' it。 And we've had Clarendon already； and Hastings's in' right after it。 Ain't never change since I been on this railroad。〃
She closed the door； and swung around； and leaned her whole back against it； as if trying to keep out some catastrophic intrusion。
〃Too late to go back；
Too late to go back…〃
〃I can still ride straight through； I can ride past without getting off；〃 she thought She ran to the windows and peered out ahead； at an acute angle； as if the oning sight of it in itself would resolve her difficulty in some way。
Nothing yet。 It was ing on very gradually。 A house； all by itself。 Then another house； still all by itself。 Then a third。 They were beginning to e thicker now。
〃Ride straight through； don't get off at all。 They can't make you。 Nobody can。 Do this one last thing that's all there's time for now。〃
She ran back to the door and hurriedly turned the little fingerlatch under the knob； locking it on the inside。
The houses were ing in more profusion； but they were ing slower too。 They didn't sail any more； they dawdled。 A schoolbuilding drifted by； you could tell what it was even from afar。 Spotless； modern； brand…new looking； its concrete functionalism gleaming spic…and…span in the sun； copiously glassed。 She could even make out small swings in motion； in the playground beside it。 She glanced aside at the small blanketed bundle on the seat That would be the kind of school she'd want…
She didn't speak； but her own voice was loud in her ears。 〃Help me； somebody； I don't know what to do！〃
The wheels were dying； as though they'd run out of lubrication。 Or like a phonograph record that runs down。
〃Cli…ck； cla…ck；
Cli…i…ck； cla…a…a…ck。〃
Each revolution seemed about to be the last。
Suddenly a long shed started up； just outside the windows； running along parallel to them； and then a white sign suspended from it started to go by； letter by letter in reverse。
〃D…L…E…I…〃
It got to the F and it stuck。 It wouldn't budge。 She all but screamed。 The train had stopped。
A knock sounded right behind her back； the vibration of it seeming to go through her chest。
〃Caulfield； ma'm。〃
Then someone tried the knob。
〃Help you with yo' things？〃
Her clenched fist tightened around the seventeen cents； until the knuckles showed white and livid with the pressure。
She ran to the seat and picked up the blue blanket and what it held。
There were people out there； just on the other side of the window。 Their heads were low； but she could see them； and they could see her。 There was a woman looking right at her。
Their eyes met； their eyes locked； held fast。 She couldn't turn her head away； she couldn't withdraw deeper into the partment。 It was as though those eyes riveted her where she stood。
The woman pointed to her。 She called out in jubilation； for the benefit of someone else； unseen。 〃There she is！ I've found her！ Here； this car up here！〃
She raised her hand and she waved。 She waved to the little somnolent； blinking head coifed in the blue blanket； looking solemnly out the window。 Made her fingers flutter in that special wave you give to very small babies。
The look on her face couldn't have been described。 It was as when life begins all over again； after an interruption； a hiatus。 It was as when the sun peers through again at the end； at the end of a bleak wintry day。
The girl holding the baby put her head down close to his； almost as if averting it from the window。 Or as if they were muning together； exchanging some confidence in secret； to the exclusion of everyone else。
She was。
〃For you；〃 she breathed。 〃For you。 And God forgive me。〃 Then she carried him over to the door with her； and turned the latch to let the harassed porter in。
14
Sometimes there is a dividing…line running across life。 Sharp； almost actual； like the black stroke of a paintbrush or the white gash of a chalk…mark。 Sometimes； but not often。
For her there was。 It lay somewhere along those few yards of carpassage； between the partment…window and the car…steps； where for a moment or two she was out of sight of those standing waiting outside。 One girl left the window。 Another girl came down the steps。 A world ended； and another world began。
She wasn't the girl who had been holding her baby by the partment…window just now。
Patrice Hazzard came down those car…steps。
Frightened； tremulous； very white in the face； but Patrice Hazzard。
She was aw