"And if he says he won't have anything to do with me I shall come right back again," declared Felicia; "Mr. M'Cosh has given me enough money to buy my ticket home. Perhaps you'll see me again this evening."
She was trying to speak calmly; but her lips quivered and her eyes were dim. Mrs. M'Cosh smiled at her encouragingly, and bade her keep a good heart.
"Master suggested my taking you to the Priory myself, Felicia," she said, "but I thought that wouldn't do. Your relations are gentlefolks, you see, and they mightn't understand how I had come to be your friend."
"I shall tell them," Felicia interposed quickly, with a flash of her blue eyes and a grateful pressure of her little fingers on the big hand she clasped so affectionately; "I shall tell them that you and Mr. M'Cosh are my best and dearest friends, and I shall explain all you have done for mother and me. Oh, I wish you were coming too!"
Mrs. M'Cosh rather wished it herself. She was very anxious as well as not a little curious to know the reception Felicia would get when she presented herself at the Priory. At that moment, however, the train arrived, and clasping the little girl in her arms she kissed her tenderly.
"Good-bye, child, and God bless you," she said, her deep voice unusually soft in tone. Then she added hurriedly: "Be a good girl, and obey your grandparents if so be they decide to give you a home, and I suppose they won't be able to refuse to provide for you, anyway. Master and I would dearly like to adopt you, but your father was a gentleman, it appears, and you belong to a different class of folks to what we do, and so—and so—you understand it would never do."
They found a compartment with a corner seat empty, which Felicia took. There was no opportunity for further conversation of a private nature; and a few minutes later the train steamed out of the station. Felicia put her head out of the window and tried to smile, but it was a very sorry attempt, for she was deeply grieved at heart.
Mrs. M'Cosh stood on the platform waving her handkerchief till she had watched the train out of sight, then she turned her footsteps homewards, very low-spirited indeed. She much doubted if she would ever see Felicia again.
"I wonder why God should have let us become attached to the child if He meant to let her pass right out of our lives," she mused; "perhaps He just wanted to make use of us for the time. Well, we won't grumble at that, for maybe the little we've been able to do He'll count as done unto Him. Poor little Felicia! I hope her grand relations will treat her well and make her happy."
Meanwhile the train was carrying Felicia beyond the smoke and the grime of the city into a purer, sweeter atmosphere, and soon it was rushing between pleasant meadowlands, where haymaking was going on. Through the open window of the carriage came delicious scents of flowers, and when the train—a slow one—stopped at the small stations on the line, Felicia was charmed by their well-kept gardens.