The Vale Leston waggonette was waiting at the Ewmouth Station to meet the express on an August afternoon, and in it sat Geraldine, her heart in her eager eyes.
Felix was coming out of the station with—oh! what a robust, brown, bronzed Ferdinand, and between them, a little fragile, shrinking figure, dragging his feet with a certain stiffness and effort. That was all she saw till he was lifted in Fernan's arms to her kiss, and passively endured it.
'Will you come by me, Travis?' asked Felix, ascending to the driving seat.
'Will you stay with your aunt, Gerald?'
'Oh, come! don't leave me!' in a plaintive voice, were the first words Cherry heard from her nephew.
'I believe I had better. He feels the jar less,' said Ferdinand, seating himself within, and lifting the child on his knee. 'Geraldine, I say,'—bending forward and indicating Felix—'is he all right?'
'O yes! quite! he only feels the strain a little now and then,' she asseverated.
'I did not know him till he spoke,' said Ferdinand. 'He is grown so much stouter and so pale.'
'We are all getting middle aged, you know,' faintly laughed Cherry.
'Not you, Geraldine, I never saw you looking so well.'