"Oh, in two or three months. I'll come when I can, you know that."
"Very well, Hector, if you think you ought to. Oh, it's hateful, this parting."
"It's only for a time, Stara, and, as I'm going, I think we ought to return home now. I've my packing to do, and the train leaves early to-morrow morning."
"I'll do your packing; I should love to. My brother shan't see, and Polly won't mind, I know. Come, as we must," and together they rode home, Graeme for once talkative, but Stara silent.
* * * * *
Next morning, before the sun had risen, the woman's dream had come to an end, and Hector was on his way back to a man's life once more. Within a mile of the station, at the top of the rise, where Stara had first seen his coming, the boy pulled up his mules, and pointed backward with his whip at a speck on the road behind them, rapidly growing larger.
"Missy Star," he said.
"We'll lose the train," muttered Hector, but the boy, ignoring the hint, refused to move till the flying figure had caught them up.
"Hector, I want you." Stara's voice was desperate, and her eyes wild.
Graeme, with one glance at the station ahead, climbed down and went over to where she was waiting, the pony's flanks heaving with distress.