"How much will my ticket cost?" she asked, abruptly.
Mrs. Lynne made no reply.
"Will you please get the money changed?" persisted Beatrix, gently, laying the bill in the woman's hand. "I will take one hundred dollars; the rest is yours."
A swift gleam passed over the hard countenance.
"Do you mean it?" she cried.
Beatrix's red lip curled scornfully.
"Certainly. I have been an expense to you ever since the remittances failed to come. And now, Mrs. Lynne, I suppose I had better prepare at once for my journey."
Mrs. Lynne did not attempt to dissuade her. The simple preparations were soon completed, and it was arranged that Beatrix should start on the early train the next morning.
Late in the day, as Beatrix was passing the open door of the sick-room, she heard her name called in a low, eager tone. She paused hesitatingly.
"Come in, will you not?" Keith Kenyon asked, softly. She came swiftly to the bedside.