"I am afraid this has not been a very agreeable stay for you," he said.
"Better luck next time," Jasper responded, as he settled himself down in the car beside his wife.
The car swung out of the gates. Rosemary, looking back, had a last vision of Maurus, standing under the electric lamp in the porch, his hand waving a last farewell.
Rosemary must have fallen asleep in the corner of the carriage, for she woke with a start. The train had come to a halt, as it had done at two or three stations since Cluj was left behind. So it was not the sudden jerk or the sound of the exhaust from the engine, that had caused Rosemary suddenly to sit up straight, wide-awake and with that vague feeling of apprehension which comes on waking when sleep has been unconsciousness rather than rest. Jasper sat in the other corner with eyes closed, but Rosemary did not think that he was asleep. They had a sleeping compartment, but hadn't had the beds made up; it was perhaps less restful for the night journey, but distinctly cleaner. The carriage was in semi-darkness, only a feeble ray of blue light filtered through the shade that tempered the gas-light up above.
Rosemary pulled up the blind. They were at a small station dimly lighted by one oil-lamp above the exit door. A clump of acacia trees in full leaf effectually hid the name of the station from view. A couple of soldiers stood at the door through which a number of peasants, men with bundles and women with baskets, one or two Jews in long gabardines and a prosperous looking farmer in town clothes and top-boots were filing out. Some one blew a tin-trumpet, a couple more soldiers stalked up the line in the direction of the engine. There was a good deal of shouting.
Rosemary drew the blind down again, and tried to settle herself comfortably in her corner once more. But sleep would not come. She looked at her watch. It was past two. This seemed an unconscionably long halt, even for a train in this part of the world. Rosemary peeped again behind the blind. The station appeared quite deserted now except for the two soldiers on guard at the door. Everything seemed very still--of that peculiar stillness which always seems so deep when a train comes to a halt during the night away from a busy station, and all the more deep by contrast with the previous ceaseless rumbling of the wheels. From the direction of the engine there came the sound of two men talking. Otherwise nothing.