THE MAN IN THE TRAIN Rachel fought her weakness with closed eyes, and was complete mistress of herself when those about her thought that consciousness alone was returning.

She recognized the chamber at a glance; it was the one in which generations of metropolitan malefactors, and a few innocent persons like herself, had waited for the verdict of life or death.

For her it was life, life, life! And she wondered whether any other of the few had ever come back to life with so little joy.
The female warders were supporting her in a chair; the prison doctor stood over her with a medicine glass.
"Drink this," said he, kindly.
"But I have been conscious all the time." "Never mind.

You need it." And Rachel took the restorative without more words.
It did its work.

The color came back to her face.