There was but one other course to pursue, and that was, to go to New York by the first outgoing train, and try to find her.
Hailing a passing cab, he sprang into it, remembering just in time that the New York express left the depot at seven o'clock. If the man drove sharp he might make it, but it would be as much as he could do.
He gave the man a double fare, who, whipping up his horses, fairly whirled down the snow-packed road in the direction of the depot.
"I am afraid that I can not make the train, sir," called the driver, hoarsely, as Hubert Varrick leaned out of the window, crying excitedly that he would quadruple his fare if he would make the horses go faster.
Again he plied his whip to the flanks of the horses, but they could not increase their speed, for they were doing their very best at that moment.
Nearer and nearer sounded the shrieking whistle of the far-off train. They reached the depot just as the train swept round the bend of the road.
"Thank God, I am in time!" cried Hubert Varrick, as he rushed along the platform. "If I had missed this train, I should have had to wait until to-morrow morning. I shall have little enough time to purchase my ticket. I—"
The rest of the sentence was never uttered. He stopped short. Standing on the platform, watching with wistful eyes the incoming train, was Jessie Bain!
A great cry broke from his lips. In an instant he was standing beside her, her hands in his, crying excitedly:
"Oh! Jessie, Jessie. Thank Heaven I am in time!"