ledge, who found no terror in the thought of that clear perception"—
"Of course," said Mr. Hinchcliff thoughtfully, "it might be some sort of poisonous fruit."
And then his eye caught something motionless, the end of a white board black-lettered outside the carriage window. "—MWOOD," he saw. He started convulsively. "Gracious!" said Mr. Hinchcliff. "Holmwood!"—and the practical present blotted out the mystic realisations that had been stealing upon him.
In another moment he was opening the carriagedoor, portmanteau in hand. The guard was already fluttering his green flag. Mr. Hinchcliff jumped out.
"Here!" said a voice behind him, and he saw the dark eyes of the stranger shining and the golden fruit, bright and bare, held out of the open carriagedoor. He took it instinctively, the train was already moving.
"No!" shouted the stranger, and made a snatch at it as if to take it back.
"Stand away," cried a country porter, thrusting forward to close the door. The stranger shouted something Mr. Hinchcliff did not catch, head and arm thrust excitedly out of the window, and then the shadow of the bridge fell on him, and in a trice he was hidden. Mr. Hinchcliff stood astonished, staring at the end of the last waggon receding round the bend, and with the wonderful fruit in his hand. For the fraction of a minute his mind was confused, and then he became aware that two or three people on the platform were regarding him with interest. Was he not the new Grammar School master making
