"Good bye, Miss Vernon—I wish you 'appy," said Mrs. Wilson, and she was free!
It was a gloomy, drizzling November day, yet she thought there was something cheery in the sensation of safety from wet conveyed by the substantial look of the carriages drawn up beside the platform, where Winter's impatience hurried them nearly an hour too soon. He had tried to persuade Kate to eat something during this interval, and though excitement left her little appetite, she swallowed a sandwich and a glass of wine to please him.
At last, the arrival of luggage and passengers became more frequent and hurried—first and second bells were rung—places taken—doors banged—a jerk forward—another back—and they were off—not at full speed at once, but slowly through the tunnel—leaving Kate time to look at the spot where she felt so desolate, the day she arrived; and, contrasting her present feelings with that terrible period, she knew, for the first time, perhaps, how much she had suffered. It was better for her that the disappointment at Egerton's not recognising her had come before, not after Winter's return—it was something to keep the balance of her heart amid so much delight. The recollection of it had never left her mind for a single instant since the Sunday before, till Winter's presence had, for a moment, overpowered it with a flood of light. Already, however, it was beginning to return, yet less gloomily, less hopelessly, mingling with some more clearly acknowledged sense of duty to herself—that it was too bold, too unmaidenly to think so much of one who perhaps thought but little of her! Yes—she was strong enough to be proud again. Oh! the enjoyment of that journey! everything looked so pleasant—even the drenched country through which they flew—and the stiff, old-maidish-looking woman opposite, who read "vestiges of the Natural History of the Creation" the whole way—munching biscuits till the carriage was strewn with the vestiges of modern crumbs; and the two gentlemen, one from Hampshire, and the other from North of the Tweed, who discussed Free Trade so warmly with Mr. Winter—and dear Mr. Winter himself, his rosy, round, well-shaven face, with its twinkling eyes, sparkling over a dark brown Spanish cloak, of melo-dramatic dimensions, majestically folded round him, while his head was cosily tied up in a templar cap, with flaps over the ears! How radiant is each object viewed through the medium of a happy heart!
Then as evening closed in, and after rushing by many a quiet little station with its red flag, and signal-man's outstretched arms, how joyous was Winter's look, as he drew out his watch.
"Half-past four! we shall be at Euston Square not long after eight."
A few minutes pause at Wolverton, while the porters trampling heavily overhead put in the lighted lamps—and jerk, clash—they were off again. The Hampshire gentleman drew up a window that had been slightly open, and renewed his argument.
"And though the legislature leaves the farmer no protection, the legislators will not lower their rents a fraction. Why, down in my county, Lord Egerton, of Allerton, took off two and a half per cent last year; and to read the address, and hear the speeches he made about it, you would think he had made each tenant a present of his holding. Thanking Heaven for putting so christian an act into his heart, &c., &c.; and now they say he will never recover; and his brother will be putting the screw on again, I suppose."
"Is Lord Egerton ill then?" asked Winter, with some interest.
"He had a paralytic seizure about four or five months ago, and has been in a very bad state ever since; his brother, Colonel Egerton, was sent for to India; he was down at Allerton a short time since, not very well himself, I believe."