"Do you know anything of the place she's going to?" asked his friend, as they descended the steps.
"Not exactly, but I'm sure I've heard no good of it; there's some sort of mystery, or scandal attached to it, I believe, and folks say the youngsters are terrors. I am sorry that is the girl's destination; she's young and pretty—evidently a lady, I should say, and looks as if she's had trouble. But there, one can't pick up strangers' burdens, we've plenty of anxieties of our own just now." And the subject of Margaret Woodford and her possible sorrows and difficulties passed from their minds as they emerged through the station door, jumped into the gigs awaiting them, and drove away to their homes.
In a few minutes more the train reached Steynham. The girl gazed up and down the platform, feeling more friendless than ever now she no longer heard the kindly voice of her fellow-traveller. She felt she would have been glad if she could have had his companionship until she was safely under the care of her employers.
This tall, elegant-looking girl getting out at Steynham did not pass unnoticed; her high-bred air and softly modulated voice quickly attracted the attention of the railway officials, who gathered round her as she stood, the one solitary passenger, beside her box.
"Is there a carriage to meet me?" she asked.
"I don't think so, miss," replied a porter, running to take a look up the road.
"No, there is no vehicle here, and none in sight, miss. Who were you expecting?"
The question was put with a desire to render assistance, for the Steynham porters knew all the surrounding gentry, and a good deal about them too, if village gossip was to be relied upon.
"I am expecting someone to meet me from Mr. Medhurst's—Oaklands is the address, near Wychcliff."
"Near Wychcliff—Oaklands!" repeated one or two of the officials. "Don't know it, miss—don't know the name."