"It will be different when you get into the station. I wish I could go with you all the way, but I must stick here till this epidemic is over and things are working properly. Then I go on to another district, where I hear matters are pretty bad. Goodness knows when all the trouble will end."
"I wonder if we shall ever meet again?"
"I hope so. You'll write, won't you, and let me know your plans?"
"Yes, of course. And—shall I go on writing?"
"Would you? I should like it. Sometimes I feel 'horribly alone' too."
"You aren't happy."
"No; I am more alone than you are." They had reached the camp. His trap, which he had ordered beforehand to meet them, was waiting.
"Just pack what you will want for the next day or two," he advised. "I will see that everything else is sent after you at once. You must come and have some dinner with me, and then we'll start for the junction. It's a long drive. The train goes about midnight."
She obeyed him with a touching docility. For the rest of that curious evening she might have been a child, leaning on his judgment, listening to his directions, trusting him utterly. He knew she ate the food that was set before her because he urged her to do so, accepted his brandy flask and the escort of his old bearer for the journey, got into the trap without a word when the moment came for their departure. Jacob leapt at the wheels in an agony of apprehension that he was to be left behind.