You have come to the wrong platform; it is the other side.

Change at Bristol into the night mail.
Down that staircase, and under the line.' They ran down the staircase--Elfride first--to the booking-office, and into a carriage with an official standing beside the door.

'Show your tickets, please.' They are locked in--men about the platform accelerate their velocities till they fly up and down like shuttles in a loom--a whistle--the waving of a flag--a human cry--a steam groan--and away they go to Plymouth again, just catching these words as they glide off: 'Those two youngsters had a near run for it, and no mistake!' Elfride found her breath.
'And have you come too, Stephen?
Why did you ?' 'I shall not leave you till I see you safe at St.Launce's.

Do not think worse of me than I am, Elfride.' And then they rattled along through the night, back again by the way they had come.

The weather cleared, and the stars shone in upon them.
Their two or three fellow-passengers sat for most of the time with closed eyes.