eleven o'clock
Just before pulling out of New York on this eventful night the conductor received a command to stop 33 at B -- and let down a single passenger , a circumstance which meant trouble for every despatcher along the line . The woman who got down at B -- in the wake of the shivering but deferential porter , and who passed by the conductors without lifting her face , was without hand luggage of any description . She was heavily veiled , and warmly clad in furs . At eleven o'clock that night she had entered the compartment in New York . Throughout the thirty miles or more , she had sat alone and inert beside the snow-clogged window , peering through veil and frost into the night that whizzed past the pane , seeing nothing yet apparently intent on all that stretched beyond . As still , as immobile as death itself she had held herself from the moment of departure to the instant that brought the porter with the word that they were whistling for B -- . Without a word she arose and followed him to the vestibule , where she watched him as he unfastened the outer door and lifted the trap .