Nan stood, the tears running down her cheeks unchecked, and probably unaware. A little apart she stood, all her sympathy, her very soul, flowing out as a final offering. "Good-by, my Nanchen!" Miss Greta kissed her on both cheeks. "You'll write me? And you won't forget me?"
Nan was far past power of words. She thrust the roses toward Greta with a look that made Napier himself feel he could fall to crying. Even Miss Greta seemed touched by some final compunction. The carriage-door had no sooner slammed on her than she turned suddenly as if she had forgotten something. "Nanchen!" she leaned out and took the girl's face in her two hands. She bent and whispered. The guards shouted. The train began to move.
"Oh, will you? Will you, Greta?" Nan was running along the platform with upturned face.
Miss Greta leaned far out, giving a flutter of white to the wind and leaving a smile for memory.
Thank God! Napier breathed an inward prayer. She can't do any more harm here.
Nan stood staring at the last coaches. Napier touched her arm. "Well?" he said gently.
"I oughtn't to be miserable," she wiped her wet cheeks. "To have Greta soon to help me to bear things—ought to make it possible to bear them now."
"You are still counting on her help?"
She nodded, "I'm to hold myself ready."
"Ready for what?"