He got into the carriage, and sat in the far corner, hiding himself from
notice as well as he could. The weary train--(it carried poor people for
the most part, so, of course it could matter but little how tedious or
slow it was!)--the weary train, stopping at every station, and often
waiting on the rail until it had been passed by trains that started four
or five hours after it,--dragged its slow course through the fair
counties of England. Many people got in and out of the carriage, which
was generally full, and some of them tried occasionally to enter into
conversation with him. But poor Eric was too sick and tired, and his
heart was too full to talk much, and he contented himself with civil
answers to the questions put to him, dropping the conversation as soon
as he could.
At six in the evening the train stopped at Charlesbury, and he got down.
"Ticket," said the station-man.
Eric gave it, turning his head away, for the man knew him well from
having often seen him there. It was no use; the man looked hard at him,
and then, opening his eyes wide, exclaimed,
"Well, I never! what, Master Williams of Fairholm, can that be you?"
"Hush, John, hush! yes, I am Eric Williams.
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