It was not too late to return; but why should she return--and to _whom_?--'Maggie's' husband? and she set her little teeth firmly and defiantly, as she was driven along the platform of the Waverley Station, with the city lights towering high in the air above her, and where the train that was to bear her away was all in readiness for starting. A new but unnatural kind of life seemed opening up to her, and under her thick Shetland veil her hot tears welled freely. Until she was quite alone now, she knew not what a feature Jack had been in her life, what an influence his presence had upon her; and now their days of earnest and peaceful love were over, and his whispers of endearment would fall upon her ear no more. Withal, she had a stunned feeling, and she began to accept her present position as if it was the result of something that had happened long, long ago, with a kind of desperate resignation and grim indifference as to what her own future might bring forth. CHAPTER XLVIII. 'INFIRM OF PURPOSE!' The night, one of the last of autumn, was very cold. She had secured a compartment to herself, fortunately; but there was no kind hand to adjust her rugs, to see that the foot-warmer was hot, to provide her with amusing periodicals, or attend to her little comforts in any way. She did not miss them, but she missed Jack. All her actions were mechanical, and it was not until she was fairly away in the last train for the South, and had emerged from the Gallon Tunnel, leaving Edinburgh with all its lights and lofty mansions behind, that she quite knew she was--vague and desperate of purpose--on her way to London. As the hours dragged slowly on--so slowly in strange contrast to the lightning-like speed of the clanking train that bore her away--she thought, would she ever forget that dreadful and hopeless night journey--in itself a nightmare--fleeing from all she loved, or had loved her, with no future to realise? Would she ever forget that dreadful, mocking woman, with her painted cheeks and cunning black eyes--her letter and her visit, every incident and detail of which seemed photographed in her heart and on her brain? Mentally she conned over and thought--till her head grew weary--of the letter she was to write Roland on the subject, and how this new distress must pain and shock him. On, on went the train; the stars shone bright in the moonless sky; the smoke of the engine streamed far behind, and strange splashes of weird light were cast on hedges, fields, and trees, on bank cuttings and other features on either side of the way. Now she had a glimpse of Dunbar, with its square church tower of red sandstone; now it was Colbrands-path, with all its wild woods and ravines; anon it was the German Sea, near Fast Castle, rolling its free waves in white foam against steep and frowning precipices; and a myriad lights gleaming on the broad river far down below announced the bordering Tweed at Berwick, and Scotland was left behind.