"I shall go, Aunt Bee," she said, quietly. "It is of no use your trying to stop me. I can manage quite well. I have Denzil's letter here, giving a full account of his journey. I have only got to get into the right train at Moscow, get out of it at Gretz, and hire a carriage to take me on. You have Gorham here to stay with you, and I shall be all right, I have plenty of common sense."
"Rona, it is impossible—impossible, and you know it! A girl of your age and appearance to go a drive of five hundred miles, alone, with these savages—what would Denzil say?"
"Denzil will not know until it is over," was the quiet answer. "Now, dear, it is of no use to fuss. What have the two Vanstons done for me? What have I ever done in return? Here is a thing I can do. Why, women do such things every day. I know a girl who went back to her husband from England to Japan, right along this trans-Siberian line, by herself. You must not hinder me, for I am going, dearest."
It was in vain to argue with her. Her mind was quite made up. She went out to Cook's Office, took her ticket, made her passport arrangements, and came back triumphant to pack her trunks. The doctor, when called into consultation, thought the plan a little daring, but by no means beyond the bounds of possibility. He had, as it chanced, a patient, a lady who lived farther along the line, and who was, by a fortunate coincidence, going that way, so that she could travel with Rona as far as Gretz. "As for the drive," he said, "it is a main road almost all the way; there are posting-stations and good horses. I think the drivers are an honest set of men; and I do not see why she should not be safe."
In short, the girl's determination carried the day. "Do not let us think of Mrs. Grundy," said she; "let us only think that Denzil is ill, and wants me. He has every right to have me, if I can get to him by any means in my power."
CHAPTER XXIV
VERONICA "ON HER OWN"
And so I look upon your face again.
What have the years done for me since we met?
Which has prevailed, the joy of life or pain?
Do you recall our parting, or forget?
Show me your face. No! Turn it from my sight!
It is a mask. I would lay bare your heart.
You will not show me that? I have no right
To read it? ... Then I know my doom. We part.
Words for a Song.
In after days, when Veronica looked back upon that journey, it seemed to her as if it had lasted for months.