an excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:

A JOURNEY TOWARDS THE SUNSET


THE train had been rushing westward for hours, and the genius of the steam-kettle who drove it along was plainly intent neither on the landscapes that in momentary glimpses might be seen from the carriage-windows, nor on the babble of conversation which, in fitful gusts, rose and fell among the company it was bearing to their several destinies. All that the scientific, yet not time-keeping, demon cared for was to reach his last station by the shortest route. Nevertheless, glimpses of scenery caught in this way from the train have an extraordinary fascination, sometimes giving a whole country-side in one vivid sheet of lightning, where every line is fixed as in a daguerreotype and can never be forgotten. And what confessional or ear of Dionysius can gather up such confidences as may be heard among chance people in railway travelling? It would seem that the silent Briton, fenced roundabout with reserve as with Arctic icebergs, fancies himself stranded on a desert island with the companion who has got into his compartment at Basingstoke or Rugby. Certain it is that he is apt, after exhibiting the most profound indifference for his vis-à-vis, to unbosom himself under such circumstances, as Robinson Crusoe would have done to the first Englishman landing on Juan Fernandez. And, as it fell out, the spirit of the steam, or any other, might have witnessed a scene of this kind, had he crept into a certain first-class carriage and lain snug in a corner thereof, watching until a couple of young men who were its occupants should awake from their slumbers.

Each had taken his ticket at the same ticket-office; each had made for the same compartment, and had established himself in a corner diagonally as regarded the other. Each had veiled his features behind a newspaper, and tried his best to imagine that the impudent fellow who shared his solitude did not exist. And each hoped to see the other take himself off when the train stopped. But in vain; it was not to be. One station after another was left behind; the country grew more countrified; the towns became of less account; the clouds began to move slowly towards the west, as though summoned to attend the last moments of a dying king who would shroud his head in their splendours; the hours drew out to twice their length, as they will do in travelling, and still no sign appeared of these unwilling companions parting from one another. When they had studied their fill of the daily wisdom purchased at the London bookstall, each glared out of his window, noted what seemed notable along the line, fixed his eyes steadily —upon nothing, and at last, drawing back his head, fell into uneasy sleep. And the train rushed on. Its genius might have fallen asleep too, and have been travelling in his dreams, for all the tokens of life in this compartment. Then the sun's light came more slanting, and the train seemed to be moving ever more and more into its pathway, as if in time it would leave the solid earth behind and on its wings of white vapour float into the sunset and be there transfigured among the cloud-splendours. And as the light filled their compartment, both young men woke up. That one of them who had been sitting by the dark windows of the carriage, away from the sun, changed his corner, and came and sat opposite the other. He was desirous, apparently, of catching a glimpse of the sea, which for more than an hour the train had been nearing, as the dull thunder of waves on a shingly beach, somewhere below, had testified. Being in such close neighbourhood, with only a foot or so of space between them, it would have been incumbent on any except British railway travellers to exchange some civil speeches. Perhaps that may have been the reason why one of them, who did not look entirely English, at last, after some hesitation, opened his lips and said (but still with the haughty indifference which young Englishmen assume towards those to whom they have not been introduced), ' Is the next station Yalden?'

' No; the next but one,' answered his vis-à-vis, sinking thereupon into stony or, as a Greek might express it, adamantine silence.

The next station appeared, paused a moment, vanished, and a reach of wild country came flying at the carriage-windows. The first speaker looked at his watch, and began again. 'The train is due at Yalden now,' he said; 'we are late.'