Lup took a step towards the cart as though meaning to leave without farewell, and then stopped. As if driven by whips, he strode back to his mother and kissed her; to his father he gave his hand. None of the three spoke. Their eyes did not meet. The tradition of silence, of fatalistic stoicism, gripped them all alike in that last moment. At the gate he dropped a word and a shake to the man as he wished him luck, and out in the road turned--once--to look behind, set against the skyline in the high-wheeled trap. But only the “girl” at the casement waved; the couple in the porch made no sign. Only their weak, old eyes, strong in inward vision, followed him tirelessly on the long miles. Passing Ladyford, master, mistress and hands were out to speed him. A horseshoe took the place of the discarded “Jack.” Mrs. Dockeray was weeping again--into a large muffler meant for his wearing on board. Something of value passed in Michael’s grip, but there was no word either of or from Francey, and this time he did not turn on the road. He did not dare. It might be that he would see her, after all, come too late. He slid a hand over the back of the seat, and a tongue came up and licked it. Behind the tongue was a brown dog-body hidden between the bags. The miles flew by in the misty morning. The drifting hails of friendly tongues came faintly to his dulled brain. Even Denny seemed very far off. Only the ache in his heart was real, and the warm tongue reaching comfort to his hand. In Sunflatts they met Lancaster, and drew up for a last word, and long after they had disappeared the agent stood staring up the street. The changes were beginning. Lup was gone. What came next? He was to take the express at Oxenholme, and as they pulled into the station, Brack’s car snorted up behind, setting the ramper on end, and scaring the brown dog between the bags. They had already met him, miles away, taking an opposite direction altogether, yet here he was at their heels. He seemed uneasy, too, fixing them when they were not looking, and walking away when they turned. If he had been meeting anybody, he would have said so, surely, and he took no ticket himself, only loitered on the platform, tugging at his moustache and staring. However, when the train thundered in, and Denny was busy holding to the ramper with one hand and the howling brown dog with the other, he seemed to make up his mind. “Just pulling out, I reckon?” he observed at the carriage-door, his casual tone rather more casual than usual. “Well, I hope you’ll find my luck meeting you on the other side. Tell them I sent you along, with my love, as one of the best! And--and--we’ll see to your folk for you, those of us left behind.” Lup nodded something that could scarcely, even with the best intentions, have been termed gratitude. The other lighted a cigarette nervously. The luggage was in, the guard looking round for the last time. Suddenly Brack jumped to the footboard. “When do you sail?”