The day of tiresome travel slowly passed. There were times when, in a wave of despair, Virginia pictured herself adrift on a sea of sadness, where all was dark and cheerless; but there were moments when sweet thoughts of her mother strengthened her and made her resolve to stand by her colors, no matter what the cost.
It was late that evening when the train arrived at Old Rock. The unusual excitement and the fatigue of traveling had brought on a persistent headache, so that it was a most forlorn and miserable Virginia who was helped down from the car. Hardly had her bag been dropped at her side when the train moved on. As the metal doors clanged shut, it seemed to the girl as if it were the sound of the gates of her old life closing against her. She gazed timidly about the station. It was very dark to this girl of the city–this child of the electric lights. The fear of the unknown seized her. Sick, frightened, every limb of her trembling, she hesitated helplessly.
A figure approached through the gloom, and the soft, cheery voice of a girl inquired, “Cousin Virginia?”
Virginia’s throat was dry and husky. “Yes.” Her answer was only a whisper. A frightened little sound, but it was all that she could make.
Now a hand seized her arm and she was led along the platform. They came under a station lamp, and again the voice spoke as they faced a tall, angular, plainly dressed woman. “Here she is, mother.”
Virginia looked up into a face which made her gasp in astonishment. In the eyes, the mouth, the deep cut lines, was resemblance to her father but, oh, with what a difference. It was Obadiah sweetened by love and affection. The harshness, the obstinacy, the selfishness of him were memories here. In their place lay a gentle, motherly look beneath the soft, white hair and from the eyes beamed a tender welcome to the lonely girl.
As Virginia hesitated diffidently, the lamp overhead brought out the pallor and the pathos of her wan tired little face. With never a word but just a soft exclamation she sank into the outstretched arms of her aunt.
“You poor tired darling,” whispered Aunt Kate. She fixed a look of great severity over Virginia’s shoulder at her own daughter. “Helen,” she cried, “do you expect visitors to carry their own baggage? Take Virginia’s bag to the surrey.” As Helen obediently departed, Aunt Kate gave her guest a motherly hug, meanwhile making strange noises in her throat. Releasing one arm with great care lest the girl be disturbed, she endeavored to wipe a tear from her wrinkled cheek with a finger. “Come, child,” she said sharply. “You must get to bed. How do you feel?” When she learned of the headache she commiserated with her niece. “You poor child. Sleep is the best treatment for that.”
A surrey drawn by a remarkably fat horse was waiting for them back of the station.
“Don’t you feel well, Cousin Virginia?” inquired Helen from the front seat.