The doctor came presently, having been summoned in haste, and decided that Kate must be put to bed and kept very quiet. She was lying with her arm round John’s neck in the candour of reconciliation, terribly pale, but quite at ease. “May I have my old room?” she said, “and will you stay with me, mamma? I have not brought a thing, not so much as a pocket-handkerchief.” Kate was Kate again, notwithstanding the dreadful ordeal through which she had passed. When the unlooked-for visitor had been installed again, an invalid, in the room from which she had sallied forth to invade and transmogrify life at Fanshawe, Mrs Mitford was called outside to speak to John. She found him with his hat in his hand, ready to go out. “I must go to Fernwood instantly,” he said; “I shall be in time for the last train from Camelford. Her father must know without delay.” “Do you suppose he does not know?” cried Mrs Mitford. Such an idea had not occurred to her dutiful mind. “But, my dear, surely to-morrow will do.” “I don’t think I should lose an hour in letting him know she is in safety. Mother, you will not leave her; you will be very, very good to her--for my sake.” “Oh, my dear, and for her own too,” said Mrs Mitford, with tears. “Listen, she is calling me. She cannot bear me out of her sight.” Upon which John took his mother in his arms, and kissed her as he had not done for long, and hurried out with tears in his eyes, and a heart as light as a feather. How the whole world had changed! He looked up at the light in her window as he sped along towards the station, and his whole being melted in a flood of tenderness. She was not a lady of romance--not a peerless princess above all soil of human weakness--but one that did wrong and was sorry, and would do wrong again, perhaps, and yet win a hundred tender pardons. Her very sin against him was only another sweetness. But for that she would never have come to him, never have thrown herself thus upon his love. John skimmed along the dark road which Kate had trod so dolefully, scarcely feeling that he touched the ground. He was too happy even to think. It seemed to be only about two minutes till he was in Camelford, the lights flashing past him through the night. He went across the station hastily towards the platform, which was swarming with the crowd that always made a rush for the last train. The London train, which was the one that passed Fanshawe, left in about a quarter of an hour, and John was aware that it would be impossible for him to get back that night. But midway between the two, among the porters and the luggage, and all the prosaic details of the place, he ran against some one who called him sharply by his name. And then his shoulder was clutched and himself brought to a sudden standstill. It was Mr Crediton in search of Kate.