In ten minutes she was on her way to Waterloo. The hansom went so slowly she beat the doors with her fists in her impatience. All thought of Tom had vanished or been pushed into the background of her life; the older love asserted itself, and every thought was concentrated on the dear life at Chidhurst. She had just time to catch the train--it went at 7.45. It wanted two minutes to the quarter when she reached the station. She flew out of the cab almost before it had stopped, handed the fare to the man, and hurried to the booking-office. It seemed as if the clerk gave her a ticket with deliberate slowness; she snatched it, and ran to the platform. The doors were being closed; she had just time to enter an empty carriage before the train started. Thank Heaven, she was alone. She could walk up and down and wring her hands or throw herself upon the seat, or lean her head against the side of the carriage and pray--to any power that existed and was merciful. "Let her live--let her live! She mustn't die while father is away; it would be so cruel. Mother--mother, darling, you mustn't die. Father is on his way back, and I am coming to you; don't you feel that I am coming?" Oh, the misery of it, and the slow, slow plodding of a train that goes towards a house over which death hovers. It seemed to Margaret as if it were hours before she even reached Woking; but it was something to be in the dear Surrey country once again. The door opened when the train stopped and two people got in; they looked like man and wife. Margaret locked her hands and clinched her teeth, as she had done in the morning in order to bear the presence of Mrs. Lakeman, and presently in her dim corner she shut her eyes and pretended to sleep, though every sense was throbbing with impatience. She heard the woman say to the man--and it made her start, for Annie was her mother's name, though they, of course, had nothing to do with her: "I think Annie's growing taller; don't you?" "I dare say," the man answered; "she's a girl I never cared for myself." He stopped a moment as if considering. "Do you think Tom means anything by it?" Tom, too! Margaret thought. "Well, they seem to think he's looking after Mabel Margetson," the woman answered. "There'd be some money there," the man said. "A good bit, no doubt," the woman answered; "but money isn't everything."