"My God," the conductor was saying, "why did she grab that rail? This is the only line left with cars with the open entry. None of the others can be caught without the consent of the conductor." She looked about her. She sat in the rear of the car that was now speeding into the business section. About her were many anxious faces. "Why, oh, why," their eyes and lips spoke, as soon as they saw her, "did you take that terrible risk?" But she did not see their eyes, or hear their words--for her eyes were looking for another. He was not there. And they never knew. CHAPTER EIGHT _What Her Eyes Saw_ "Our daughter is late tonight, Gabriel," said Mother Jane, coming from the door, where she had been many times. "It is now almost seven, and she has not yet arrived. I am uneasy. But I will be patient. Maybe she had to wait on some of her customers. It is so near the holidays, that some may have been downtown buying presents for their friends, and she is compelled to wait. Of course, she has never been late before, which doesn't mean that she might not be late today--but, oh well, I'll wait." Gabriel, her old husband, played with his fork and said nothing. He never said anything. He had not said anything since '65. The rebels at Fort Pillar stopped him from saying anything further, for since then he had been speechless. "We will have a big Christmas this year, Gabriel," said she. "Mildred's being with us will make a difference." She was silent now, listening to the fire that cracked in the grate. Presently her eyes sought a place at the table. It was the place Mildred occupied, but she was thinking of another. This other had been all to her, for he was her son. Tears came to her eyes now, as she thought of the years gone by, and the times she had fixed that place for him. Yes, she had fixed the plate there for him a thousand times. But he did not--had not eaten from it for many a meal now. No, he ate _elsewhere_. As she looked at the place today, strangely she felt he would never eat there again. And he was her only child. If he failed to carry the name beyond his present circumstances, then the name of Gabriel Ware ended with her mute husband, who sat waiting patiently. "It will be so nice, Gabriel, to have her with us this Christmas. And she stays right at home and reads to us both every night. She is a sweet child, is Mildred. She has been our own daughter since she came here. It has been a treat for me, because I love so much to read; while you have liked since '65 to hear me; but my old eyes cannot follow the lines with the accuracy they used to. No, the lines run together so often now, and when they become clear again, it is so hard and tiresome to find the place. But since she came, with her young eyes, her cheerful smiles, her endless patience with old people, who at the best are hard to get along with, I appreciate that things have been so different."