“There was a possibility, of course, that she wouldn’t come alone, although she had been away from home, in New York, when she heard. But it never occurred to me that I could miss her if she did come alone, although I’d never seen her, and felt sure she wouldn’t have on black veils and things. You can’t imagine all the different things I thought of to say to her while I was walking up and down the platform waiting for the train to come in. They all sounded so formal and sort of undertakery, that I knew I shouldn’t say any of them when the time came. But I couldn’t think of anything else--the one right one, I mean. “Well, she came on the first train she possibly could have come on after sending the telegram, and I knew her at once. She was the very last person to get out of the car. It wasn’t that, or because she looked different--anybody else would have said she was very, very tired; but I just knew her, and before I could think of any of those other things, I took her travelling-bag and said,-- “‘I’m one of Hugh’s friends.’ “I didn’t see her when I said it,--only her hands,--because I was looking down at the bag.” Haydock paused a moment. “I think it was the right thing, dear--the only one,” said his mother, softly. “It’s a long, long drive to Cambridge, even if you know where you are all the time. But with the windows all blurred, and nothing to mark the way except the rumble of the bridge or the car-tracks, or some bright light you know pretty well, that tells you you haven’t gone nearly so far as you thought you had, it’s terrible. We didn’t say anything on the way. She leaned back in the corner; I think she was crying. Mrs. Finley--the landlady--heard us coming, and had the door open when we got out; I made _her_ go upstairs with me, and told her not to dare to go near that room and--and disturb them. She’s just the sort of a woman who would. It was almost midnight then, and I sat there until after two. I tried to grind for a Fine Arts’ examination out of one of Wellington’s books--he must have been taking the same course--until the door downstairs opened and closed, and I heard Mrs. Wellington come slowly up the steps. I put the book on the mantelpiece; it seemed heartless to be reading there by his fire when she came in. “She was a very brave woman, I think--brave and civilised. She walked slowly round the room, sort of touching things here and there; and she stopped a long time at the table, and put her hand on the note-books gently, as if she were stroking them, and then closed them.” “Did she find the letter?” asked Mrs. Haydock.