And then the speaker was gone. No one saw her companion’s face for some time after that. Nor did she see the receding mountains on which she seemed to be gazing. Her eyes were dim with tears which must not be allowed to fall.
“Fidelia Marsh,” said her companion at last, “what are you thinking about? Not little Nellie Austin all this time, surely?”
The young girl turned round. “I was trying to think how it would seem if I were never to see her or any of you all again;” and then she turned her face to the window, and sat silent till her turn had come to say “Good-bye.”
“Yes, this is my stopping-place.”
She smiled and nodded to those who were not within reach of her hand, and seemed to be cheerful enough in her good-bye, but she did not linger near the window when she reached the platform, as Nellie Austin and her friend had done.
It was a dreary little station, standing at the foot of a broken stony slope, with only one unfurnished house in sight. One lank official moved about at his leisure, and one embryo trader hastened to display his boxes of lozenges, and his basket of unwholesome peanuts and last year’s apples. There were doubtless prosperous villages along the wide road that crossed the railway, and pleasant farmhouses amid the high pastures and moist meadow lands hid away among the hills beyond; but the dingy house and the dull little station were all that could be seen from the windows of the cars, and Fidelia’s companions said to one another that the place looked forlorn.
“And poor dear Fidelia! Does she not look forlorn as well?”
They had time to watch her as she went to claim her trunk, and they saw her shake hands with the leisurely official, who was evidently an acquaintance. But when she turned at last to the window she did not look “forlorn.” A beautiful face looked up from under a big bonnet—a rarely beautiful face, delicate yet strong. There were slight hollows and a darkened shade beneath the lovely grey eyes set wide apart under a low broad forehead, and the pale rose-tint on her cheeks might have been deeper with advantage. The look of delicacy was due to the hard work she had been doing, but the strength was real, and she would last through harder work than ever she was likely to have at school.
Forlorn? No. Her face was radiant! The solemn-looking station-master had wrought the change.
“Well, Fidelia, you’ve got home, haven’t you? Folks don’t expect you, do they?”