they were left
together.

"That he was only a bit dizzy. Mayhap he's noways 'customed to illness,"
said the landlady.

"That is true. And what did you say then?"

"I coaxed him to rest him a bit, and take a drop o' summat, and he
smiled and said, 'Thank you, my good woman.'

"You were in the right, you dear old soul," said Greta. And she put her
arms about the landlady and hugged her. "I'm sure you've been very good
to my husband, and watched him tenderly, while I, who should have nursed
him, have been away. Thank you, thank you!"

Mrs. Drayton was feeling uneasy. "Well, d'ye know, I can't bear to see a
fellow creatur' suffer. It goes agen me someways."

Greta had risen to her feet. "Stay here, Mrs. Drayton--Drayton, isn't
it?--stay here while I go on to the platform. He might come and not see
me. Ah, yes, he may be looking everywhere for me now."

She went out and elbowed her way among the people who were hurrying to
and fro; she dodged between the trucks that were sliding luggage on to
the weighing machine and off to the van. The engines were puffing
volumes of smoke and steam up to the great glass roof, where the whistle
of the engine-man echoed sharp and shrill. Presently she returned to the
waiting-room.

"Oh, Mrs. Drayton," she said, "I dreamed a fearful dream last night.
What do you think? Will he be well enough to come?"

"Coorse, coorse, my dear. 'Tell her to meet her husband at twelve.'
Them's the gentleman's own words."

"How happy I shall be when we are safe at home! And if he is ill, it
will be for me to nurse him then."

The light in the dove-like eyes at that moment told plainly that to the
poor soul even illness might bring its compensating happiness.

"And as to dreams, to be sure, they are on'y dreams; and what's dreams,
say I?"

"You are right, Mrs. Drayton," said Greta, and once more she shot away
toward the platform. Her mind had turned to Parson Christian. Could it
be possible that he had arrived? The porter who had brought in her
luggage was still standing beside it, and with him there was another
porter. Their backs were toward Greta as she came out of the
waiting-room, and, tripping lightly behind them, she overheard a part of
their conversation before they were aware that she was near.

"See the old file in the gaiters by the eleven up?" said one.

"Rather. A reg'lar grandmother's great-grandfather just out of the year
one. Talk about swallows, eh?--and the buckles--and the