For a few moments nervous fear assailed her, and then she said bravely, "Can you get me a cab?"
"I'll see, miss," one of the porters answered civilly. "You come into the waiting-room, and I'll go and fetch Mr. Cramp."
"Who is he?" she inquired.
"Oh, he's the man that has the fly. If it isn't out, it'll be here in half an hour."
Half an hour! Her heart died at the prospect, as she followed her luggage down the platform into the stuffy little waiting-room. The window was closed, and it looked as if it ought to have a poster up with "TO LET" on the door.
"The station is more comfortable, I think," said the porter, taking a considering look at the elegant figure in front of him, as, setting down her bags a moment, he turned to her and motioned to the bench by the entrance door.
"Thank you, I will wait here."
"I won't be long, miss," he continued encouragingly. "I'll just give these to the booking-clerk to look after, and I'll be back in no time."
In a few moments more she had the satisfaction of seeing him start out briskly, and pass through the white station gates.
Wearily she gazed out of the window. It was a warm day, in early summer, and the scene before her was not wholly dispiriting. A straight road from the station led up to the village; on the left was a squarely built house with the words "Coffee Tavern" written upon it in large letters; then came a few cottages. The road was sheltered at places by some fine old elms, and on the right hand she saw something that made almost a thrill of hope pass through her, as she drank in the sight and breath of its beauty.