Lilith glanced at the large station clock. It was now five minutes past six. She bought her ticket, got a cup of coffee at the refreshment counter, and then followed the throng who were crowding through the gates to get on the New York train.
She got a corner chair on a Pullman car, wheeled it around towards the window, so that her back would be turned to her fellow-passengers, and gave herself up to thought.
She had been driven from her home in dishonor, and her flight and the letter she had left behind had cut off all retreat, and made a voluntary return impossible.
What were they doing at Cloud Cliffs this morning? Her husband had not probably received her letter until this morning, because he had not, she thought, entered her room during the night.
What would he think of her letter? How would it affect him?
She could not conjecture, especially as she could not remember what she had written, in the white heat of her emotions, when about to leave him, perhaps forever.
And old Nancy! What would she think of this sudden flight? Would Nancy be very sorry for her? And the other domestics, who had known and loved her from her babyhood—would they care?
Oh, yes, indeed, she felt and knew that all the servants, old and young, would grieve for her, and all the animals would miss her.
Then Lilith fell to weeping again at the thought of all human and brute that she had loved so well, and yet had left, perhaps forever.
Her paroxysm of tears exhausted itself, but her distressing thoughts continued.