... 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 hoarsely.