It was home, but it could never be the same home again. All would be changed. A feeling of separation must arise between her and Madelaine. The two families must live apart, and a dark rift in her life grow wider as the time glided on, till she was farther and farther away from the bright days of youth, with little to look forward to but sorrow and the memory of the shadow hanging over their home.
“Here we are,” cried Uncle Luke, as the train glided slowly alongside the platform and then stopped. “Got all your traps? George, give me my stick. Now, then, you first.”
The station lamps were burning brightly as Louise gave her father her hand and stepped out. Then she felt blind and troubled with a strange feeling of dread, and for a few moments everything seemed to swim round as a strange singing filled her ears.
Then there was a faint ejaculation, two warm soft arms clasped her, and a well-known voice said, in a loving whisper, “Louise—sister—at last!” For one moment the dark veil over her eyes seemed to lift, and like a flash she realised that Madelaine was not in black, and that resting upon a stick there was a pale face which lit up with smiles as its owner clasped her to his breast in turn.
“My dearest child! welcome back. The place is not the same without you.”
“Louie, my darling!” in another pleasant voice, as kisses were rained upon her cheek, and there was another suggestion of rain which left its marks warm.
“He would come, George Vine;” and the giver of these last kisses, and warm tears, did battle for the possession of the returned truant. “Maddy, my dear,” she cried reproachfully and in a loud parenthesis, “let me have one hand. He ought not to have left the house, but he is so determined. He would come.”
“Well, Dutch doll, don’t I deserve a kiss?” cried old Luke grimly.
“Dear Uncle Luke!”
“Hah, that’s better. George, I think I shall go home with the Van Heldres. I’m starving.”