12 midnight. My last word in this book. Within the past six hours I have experienced something of what I call "heaven and hell". I have travelled a long road since I came to this city on November 4, 1902.
V
A few evenings afterwards Delia Beaseley came up to see me. She brought the passage money and a note of instruction. It was directly to the point: I was to take a sleeping car on the Montreal express; then the day local boat down the St. Lawrence to Richelieu-en-Bas. At the landing I was to enquire for Mrs. Macleod, and someone would be there to meet me. A time-table was enclosed. The note was signed "Janet Macleod ".
"This must be the 'elderly Scotchwoman,' Delia," I said after reading the note twice.
"I'm thinking it's her—but then you never can tell."
"How did she send the passage money?"
"By post office order. It would n't have hurt her to send a bit of a welcome word, to my thinking." She spoke rather grimly.
"I 'm not going for the welcome, you know; it's work and a change I want—and right thankful I am to get the chance."
"Well you may be, my dear, in these times," she said, softening at once.