Dawn came — the dawn of that first day of war. He got up, leaving her still sleeping, and walked a few yards to the signpost. “Stamford Magna, 2 miles.” To peace, how many days, months, years? He lit a pipe and watched the dawn turn to sunrise. The spire of Lissington Church pricked over the lightening horizon; day came rolling over the little hills, filling the sunken roadways, glistening on the wheat fields, wakening the birds. A harness jingled in some far stable. In a little while it would be time to walk to the Junction; where he had remembered there were chocolate slot machines. Then later, when they reached some bigger place, they could have a real breakfast.

He roused her and they passed on together, facing the early morning sunlight. Soon the road entered the long level stretch at the end of which could be seen the station buildings and a signal tower. It was ten to, six when they approached the entrance to the ticket office and David had another of those precautionary ideas that only occur to people who are not really good at precautions — it suddenly occurred to him that at the station everybody knew him well and that it would be safer to slip on to the platform through the shunting yard and board the train without taking tickets. This he did, easily enough, for the train was already drawn up at the platform and there was ample choice of unoccupied compartments. He knew that the train would take them as far as Charlham, where they could buy the tickets and pick up an express to London.

Feeling rather pleased with this excellent strategy, he smoked contentedly while Leni settled into the cushions and went to sleep again. He was still thinking how cleverly he had escaped being recognized by the station staff when he recollected the chocolate in the slot machines; and he was just wondering whether he could risk a last-minute dash across the platform when, at the same last minute, the door of the compartment opened and a man, paunchy, middle-aged, and breathless, jumped in and flung himself down in the corner seat opposite David. “Why,” he began, “if it isn’t Dr. Newcome — well — well? … Remember the last time we traveled on this line, doc? Too warm for gloves this weather, eh?” He began to laugh and chuckle, and David smiled ruefully and couldn’t help saying, as he might have done in the surgery: “You shouldn’t run for trains, Barney, at your age. It’s the worst heart strain you can think of, because it’s excitement as well as physical effort?”

Later, some time later, months later in fact, Barney Tinsley confessed that he had not at first realized that the girl in the other corner was traveling with the doctor. She had been asleep, and he was surprised when she suddenly woke up and said something in a foreign language. Well, more than surprised — regular flabbergasted.