e could not be dead! Oh, yes,--she
must have been dreaming,--she felt certain she was lying on her own
little white bed at home, asleep;--she would by-and-by open her eyes and
get up and look through her little latticed window, and see the sun
sparkling on the water, and the _Eulalie_ at the anchor in the
Fjord--and her father would ask Sir Philip and his friends to spend the
afternoon at the farm-house--and Philip would come and stroll with her
through the garden and down to the shore, and would talk to her in that
low, caressing voice of his,--and though she loved him dearly, she must
never, never let him know of it, because she was not worthy! . . . She
woke from these musings with a violent start and a sick shiver running
through all her frame,--and looking wildly about her, saw that she was
reclining on some one's shoulder,--some one was dabbing a wet
handkerchief on her forehead--her hat was off and her cloak was
loosened.

"There, my dear, you're better now!" said a kindly voice in her ear.
"Lor! I thought you was dead--that I did! 'Twas a bad faint indeed. And
with the train jolting along like this too! It was lucky I had a flask
of cold water with me. Raise your head a little--that's it! Poor
thing,--you're as white as a sheet! You're not fit to travel, my
dear--you're not indeed."

Thelma raised herself slowly, and with a sudden impulse kissed the good
woman's honest, rosy face, to her intense astonishment and pleasure.

"You are very kind to me!" she said tremulously. "I am so sorry to have
troubled you. I do feel ill--but it will soon pass."

And she smoothed her ruffled hair, and sitting up erect, endeavored to
smile. Her companion eyed her pale face compassionately, and taking up
her sleeping baby from the shawl on which she had laid it while
ministering to Thelma's needs, began to rock it slowly to and fro.
Thelma, meanwhile, became sensible of the rapid movement of the train.

"We have left London?" she asked with an air of surprise.

"Nearly half an hour ago, my dear." Then, after a pause, during which
she had watched Thelma very closely, she said--

"I think you're married, aren't you, dearie?"

"Yes." Thelma answered, a slight tinge of color warming her fair pale
cheeks.

"Your husband, maybe, will meet you at Hull?"

"No,--he is in London," said Thelma simply. "I am going to see my
father."

This answer satisfied her humble friend, who, noticing her extreme
fatigue and the effort it cos