An hour later Mason found Laura with little Nelly lying heavily asleep in her arms. At sight of him she put finger on lip, and, rising, carried the child to her bed. Tenderly she put her down--tenderly kissed the little hand. The child's utter sleep seemed to soothe her, for she turned away with a smile on her blanched lips. She gave money to Mrs. Starr, who was to nurse the little one for a week, and then, it seemed to Mason, she was all alacrity, all eagerness to go.

"Oh! but we're late!" she said, looking at her watch in the street. And she hastily put her head out of the window and implored the cabman to hurry.

Mason said nothing.

The station, when they reached it, was in a Sat.u.r.day night ferment.

Trains were starting and arriving, the platforms were packed with pa.s.sengers.

Mason said a word to a porter as they rushed in. The porter answered; then, while they fled on, the man stopped a moment and looked back as though about to run after them. But a dozen pa.s.sengers with luggage laid hands upon him at once, and he was left with no time for more than the muttered remark:

"Marsland? Why, there's no train beyond Braeside to-night."

"No. 4 platform," said Hubert to his companion. "Train just going." Laura threw off her exhaustion and ran.

The guard was just putting his whistle to his lips. Hubert lifted her into her carriage.

"Good-bye," she said, waving to him, and disappeared at once into a crowd of fellow-pa.s.sengers.

"Right for Marsland?" cried Hubert to the guard.

The guard, who had already whistled, waved his flag as he replied:

"Marsland? No train beyond the junction to-night."

Hubert paused for a moment, then, as the train was moving briskly out, sprang upon the foot-board. A porter rushed up, the door was opened, and he was shoved in amid remonstrances from front and rear.

The heavily laden train stopped at every station--was already nearly an hour late. Holiday crowds got in and out; the platforms were gay with talk and laughter.

Mason saw nothing and heard nothing. He sat leaning forward, his hat slouched over his eyes. The man opposite thought he had fallen asleep.

Whose fault was it? Not his! He might have made sure? Why, wasn't Seaton's word good enough? _She_ thought so.

Why hadn't he made sure?--in that interval before he came back for her.

She might have stayed at Froswick for the night. Plenty of decent people would have put her up. He remembered how he had delayed to call the cab till the last moment.

... Good G.o.d! how could a man know what he had thought! He was fair moidered--bedazzled--by that awful thing--and all the change of plans.

And there was Seaton's word for it. Seaton was a practical man, and always on the railway.

What would she say--when the train stopped? In antic.i.p.ation he already heard the cry of the porters--"Braeside--all change!" The perspiration started on his brow. Why, there was sure to be a decent inn at Braeside, and he would do everything for her. She would be glad--of course she would be glad to see him--as soon as she discovered her dilemma. After all he was her cousin--her blood relation.

And Mr. Helbeck? The lad's hand clenched. A clock-face came slowly into view at a wayside station. 8.45. He was now waiting for her at Marsland.

For the Squire himself would bring the trap; there was no coachman at Bannisdale. A glow of fierce joy pa.s.sed through the lad's mind, as he thought of the Squire waiting, the train's arrival, the empty platform, the returning carriage. What would the Squire think? d.a.m.n him!--let him think what he liked.

Meanwhile, in another carriage, Laura leant back with shut eyes, pursued by one waking dream after another. Shadow and flame--the whirling sparks--the cry!--that awful wrenching of the heart in her breast--the parting crowd, and the white-faced child, phantom-like, in its midst. She sat up, shaken anew by the horror of it, trying to put it from her.

The carriage was now empty. All the other travellers had dismounted, and she seemed to be rushing through the summer night alone. For the long daylight was nearly done. The purple of the June evening was pa.s.sing into the more mysterious purple of the starlight; a clear and jewelled sky hung softly over valleys with "seaward parted lips," over woods with the wild rose bushes shining dimly at their edge; over knolls of rocky ground, crowned with white spreading farms; over those distant forms to the far north where the mountains melted into the night.

Her heart was still wrung for the orphaned child--prized yesterday, no doubt--they said he was a good father!--desolate to-day--like herself.

"Daddy!--where's Daddy?" She laid her brow against the window-sill and let the tears come again, as she thought of that trembling cry. For it was her own--the voice of her own hunger--orphan to orphan.

And yet, after this awful day--this never to be forgotten shock and horror--she was not unhappy. Rather, a kind of secret joy possessed her as the train sped onward. Her nature seemed to be sinking wearily into soft gulfs of reconciliation and repose. Froswick, with its struggle and death, its newness and restlessness, was behind her--she was going home, to the old house, with its austerity and peace.

Home? Bannisdale, home? How strange! But she was too tired to fight herself to-night--she let the word pa.s.s. In her submission to it there was a secret pleasure.

... The first train had come in by now. Eagerly, she saw Polly on the platform--Polly looking for the pony cart. Was it old Wilson, or Mr.

Helbeck? Wilson, of course! And yet--yet--she knew that Wilson had been away in Whinthorpe on farm business all day. And Mr. Helbeck was careful of the old man. Ah well! there would be something--and someone--to meet her when she arrived. Her heart knew that.

Now they were crossing the estuary. The moon was rising over the sands, and those far hills, the hills of Bannisdale. There on the further bank were the lights of Braeside. She had forgotten to ask whether they changed at the junction--probably the Marsland train would be waiting.

The Greet!--its voice was in her ears, its many channels shone in the flooding light. How near the hills seemed!--just a moonlight walk along the sands, and one was there, under the old tower and the woods. The sands were dangerous, people said. There were quicksands among them, and one must know the paths. Ah! well--she smiled. Humdrum trains and cabs were good enough for her to-night.

She hung at the open window, looking down into the silver water. How strange, after these ghastly hours, to feel yourself floating in beauty and peace--a tremulous peace--like this? The world going your way--the soul yielding itself to fate--taking no more painful thought for the morrow----

"Braeside! All change!"

Laura sprang from the carriage. The station clock opposite told her to her dismay that it was nearly half-past eleven.

"Where's the Marsland train?" she said to the porter who had come forward to help her. "And how dreadfully late we are!"

"Marsland train, Miss! Last one left an hour ago--no other till 6.12 to-morrow morning."

"What do you mean? Oh! you didn't hear!--it's the train for _Marsland_ I want."

"Afraid you won't get it then, Miss, till to-morrow. Didn't they warn you at Froswick? They'd ought to. This train only makes the main-line connection--for Crewe and Rugby--no connection Whinthorpe way after 8.20."

Laura's limbs seemed to waver beneath her. A step on the platform. She turned and saw Hubert Mason.

"You!"

Mason thought she would faint. He caught her arm to support her. The porter looked at them curiously, then moved away, smiling to himself.

Laura tottered to the railing at the back of the platform and supported herself against it.

"What are you here for?" she said to him in a voice--a voice of hatred--a voice that stung.

He glanced down upon her, pulling his fair moustache. His handsome face was deeply flushed.

"I only heard there was no train on, from the guard, just as you were starting; so I jumped into the next carriage that I might be of some use to you here if I could. You needn't look at me like that," he broke out violently--"I couldn't help it!"

"You might have found out," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Say you believe I did it on purpose!--to get you into trouble!--you may as well. You'd believe anything bad about me, I know."