Part 44 (1/2)

”Yes, miss, of course. But where are you going from, there's no trains now, miss?”

”There is a train that stops at Swaile Junction somewhere between three and four, I am going to catch that.”

”Swaile,” said the maid; ”but that's miles away, miss. How will you go?”

”Quite easily,” said Caroline. ”I am going to walk.”

”But you'll never do it, miss. It's much too far.”

”Don't talk rubbish,” said Caroline, quickly. ”I can walk ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, or even thirty miles, if needs be. Walking does not hurt me.”

As she ran down again she glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to eleven. There was ample time, although she would have to keep to the roads, because she did not know any short cut. The idea that she should be frightened amused her in a way.

”If anybody hits me, I shall hit back,” she said to herself, as she gripped her umbrella and started forth.

It was not a dark night, though there was no moon.

At first the mere physical satisfaction of moving, of walking swiftly, carried Caroline along pleasurably. The fresh, sweet cold in the air was like an embrace.

She skirted the village, and ventured across one field which she knew would cut off a considerable corner. This field was studded with sheep and lambs.

The foolish creatures got up with a jerk, and ran away, complaining and fearful, as she pa.s.sed swiftly beside them. In the faint, misty light the lambs looked prettier than ever.

Once on the high-road Caroline pushed on vigorously, but by degrees that unconscious sense of exhilaration which had possessed her when she had first started fell away, and she felt heart-weary and indescribably sad as she realized the purport of this solitary excursion.

How far she walked she never knew, but her feet were getting stiff and tired when at last she saw the lights of the junction in the distance.

Nevertheless, she could not rest when she was in the station. She spent the time waiting for the train to come in restlessly pacing the platform.

It was about half-past six when she reached London, and put herself into a cab. The horse seemed as tired as herself, and the journey from the station interminable, but at last she had alighted at the familiar little house.

Her heart was in her throat as she rang the bell.

”Perhaps I shall have to wait a little while,” she said to herself.

”They never get up very early.”

But, strangely enough, the door was opened to her almost immediately by the cook, whose face lit up when she saw Caroline.

”Oh, miss, I am glad to see you!” she said. ”I've had such a start.

He's upstairs in the drawing-room. If you'll believe me, he's been here since a quarter to six. Wouldn't be said no! But how tired you look, miss! Come in and sit down.”

Caroline could not get her voice for a moment. Vaguely she remarked a strapped portmanteau standing on one of the chairs. Then she asked--

”Mrs. Lancing, is she here?”

The servant shook her head.

”No, miss, she's not here. That's what I've been telling Sir Samuel. He won't believe me. He says she's coming.”

”Not here?” said Caroline.