"Such fancies will help you out a good bit, my dear; it's well you have a word or two of French to get along with. I used to hear it when I was a girl in Cape Breton." I caught the shadow of a memory settle in her eyes. We were at the gate. The train was made up. "I must say goodby here, my dear; they won't let me in to the train." I took both her hands again. "Goodby, Delia Beaseley," I began; then something choked me. I so wanted to thank her for all her goodness to me. "I wish I knew what to say--how to thank--" "There, there, my dear, I 'm the one to be thankful. I 've been reaping a harvest just from one little seed I sowed near twenty-six years ago--and I never thought to see so much as a blade of grass! That's all. I 'm wonderful grateful it's been given me to see such a harvest." "Oh, Delia, if I only amounted to something, so that you could be proud of your little harvest--" "Now, don't, my dear, don't; don't say nothing more, but just go straight forward with God's blessing, which is the same as mine this time, and--don't forget me if ever you need a friend." My eyes filled with unaccustomed tears. A curious thought: New York, the Juggernaut, the fetich of millions, just when I was ridding myself of the horror of its awful presence, was about to bind me to it through this new-old friend! I caught her rough toil-worn hand in both mine and pressed my lips to it; then I dropped it, and walked rapidly down the platform to the train. Not once did I look behind me. For a little while after entering the luxurious sleeping car, I felt awkward, uncomfortable; I had never been in one before. But when I was settled in my ample, high-backed section, and the train began to move slowly out of the station and through the tunnel, I felt more at ease. After that, with every mile that the train, moving more and more swiftly, put between me and the city's sights and sounds, I felt a rising of spirits, an ease of mind and body I had never before experienced. Within an hour all depression had vanished; hopes and anticipations for the new environment filled the foreground of my thoughts. Without adequate reason, I believed that the change I was making was for my good; that with new faces about me, with new and closer interests which, alone as I was in the world, I must substitute for a home, I was about to escape from all former associations and the memories they fostered. Only one thought troubled me, that was the connection by Delia Beaseley of Doctor Rugvie's name with that of George Jackson--my mother's husband. I had hoped never to hear that name again. For an hour I peered at the dark Hudson, the shadowed hills; the night fell, blotting out the landscape wholly and shutting me into the warm brilliantly lighted car with a sense of cosy security.