So saying, Josephine darted along the down platform of the Midbury railway station, followed closely by Mr. Basset. The train for which they had been waiting for nearly half an hour had just slowed into the station, and from one of its carriages Captain Basset was carefully stepping, assisted by his servant. But for the shade he wore over his eyes he looked much as usual, and quite as erect and soldierly.
"Father!" Josephine cried, as she reached him, "here we are!—Uncle John and I!"
She put her arms around his neck, and they kissed each other; then Mr. Basset shook him by the hand—in silence, for the old man was too moved for the moment to speak.
"I guessed you two would come to meet me," Captain Basset said. "Warner, where are you?"
"Here, sir!"
Warner was a grey-haired man of about fifty, with an honest, cheerful face. He looked kind and trustworthy, Josephine thought.
"I've engaged a cab, Paul," said Mr. Basset, putting his nephew's hand on his arm; "let me take you to it."
"Thank you," Captain Basset replied. "Please see to the luggage, Warner."
Josephine followed her father and Mr. Basset out of the station into the hot sunshine of the August evening, and they took their seats in the waiting cab—Josephine beside her father, Mr. Basset on the seat opposite. The little girl's heart had swelled with pity as she had watched her father's uncertain footsteps and the clumsy manner in which he had entered the cab; and now her eyes filled with tears as she noted the painfully attentive way in which he was listening to every sound. It was a relief when Warner appeared, having arranged for the luggage to be conveyed to the Glen by the town carrier, and took his seat beside the driver. The next minute they had started for home.
"Oh, father," Josephine said, as she slipped her hand through her father's arm and nestled against him, "it's seemed ages waiting for you! We thought you would have come straight here from London."