We must be off to some place of concealment until we can learn whether he is compromised by that wretched man's confession." Lizzie quickly paid her bill, packed her trunk, and started for the station in hopes of catching the mid-day train for New York.
The driver did not spare his horses, but at her request drove them at their utmost speed--but in vain.

She arrived there only time enough to see the train move away; and there, standing on the platform, looking at her with a sort of triumphant satisfaction, was the man with the keen grey eyes.
"Stop! stop!" cried she.
"Too late, miss," said a bystander, sympathizingly; "just too late--no other train for three hours." "Three hours!" said Lizzie, despairingly; "three hours! Yet I must be patient--there is no remedy," and she endeavoured to banish her fears and occupy herself in reading the advertisements that were posted up about the station.

It was of no avail, that keen-looking man with his piercing grey eyes haunted her; and she could not avoid associating him in her thoughts with her father and McCloskey.

What was he doing on the train, and why did he regard her with that look of triumphant satisfaction.
Those were to her the three longest hours of her life.

Wearily and impatiently she paced up and down the long saloon, watching the hands of the clock as they appeared to almost creep over the dial-plate.