"Cleopatra, sir? Have your choice of berths, sir. Going home empty, sir."
So little did the porter remember the haggard man. Old Bryan did not reply. He shuffled by the porter. But the question reminded him of the Saratoga trunk, and after a moment's doubt he went to claim it.
"No, sir. Bring the check, sir. No baggage given here, sir, without the checks." Poor old man, he could even see the trunk. But the check, most likely, was in De Alcantara's pocket. He tried to explain.
"No use talking, sir. You keep this gentleman waiting. Bring the check." And all poor old Bryan could do was to select a seat in the car most distant from that fatal Cleopatra. The Pullman porter could enlist but three passengers for her,—Lucy Lander and the frightened Bryan children.
No! it was morning before they had any companions to whom to tell dreams or adventures. But, early in the morning, the train stops at Chimborazo. Poor old Bryan had left it in the night at Blunt Axe, and was even then scanning the rails of the fatal bridge and peering down into the river. Was this blood or iron-rust? Was yonder white gleam a bit of his child's clothing?
The train stops at Chimborazo. And Lucy Lander and the children are not to be longer alone. Horace Ray enters. Jane Forsyth enters. And here are Fanny and Alice and Emma—all the girls—and Walter and Siegfried and James—all the boys. We change porters. Here comes John, the boy we started with on the wedding journey.
Scree! Scree! "All aboard!" The train dashes away.
"John, you make up six," says Horace, to the amazement of all the others; and Horace stands by as John unbolts the upper berth and lets it down.
And there, as fresh as a rose, as if she were just waking from happy dreams—there lies, there smiles, our Hester! Yes, it is she. She rises on her elbow, she jumps into Horace's arms. Fairly before all these people—are they not friends, and true friends?—kisses her, and she kisses him.
"Did you sleep well, my darling?"