After what seemed an eternity of waiting, the journey came to an end. The train drew up before a little sun-baked station which was like a score of others that had been passed before, and on the platform stood a man in uniform, and a woman in white whose thin, sweet face was turned eagerly towards the windows of the train, and with a rush of pain and joy the traveller recognised the friend of her girlhood. The two women kissed, and clung, and gazed, and fell back to gaze again. On Dorothea’s face was written love and admiration, touched with the wistfulness of the exile. This young, fresh girl was only a year her junior—how sweet, how pink, how English she appeared! The sight of her was as a breath of green lanes sunk deep between flowering hedges. Katrine’s eyes felt the smart of tears. How thin, how old, how changed, but oh, how sweet! sweeter than ever, and with just the old, dear, loving ways. As for Jack Middleton himself, he had improved in appearance, as men have a trying habit of doing, in contradistinction to their women kind. He looked broader, more imposing, the loss of complexion was in his case little detriment. When he had left England he had been but a lanky youth, now he was a man, and a handsome man at that. Katrine looking on felt a pang of resentment. This land of exile demanded many tolls of the women who followed their men-kind to its shores, not least among them the loss of youth and bloom! Captain Middleton took charge of Mrs Mannering, and the two friends drove home together, hand in hand, but silent. There was so much to be said that it seemed difficult to begin, and Katrine was subtly conscious that Dorothea shared her own feeling of shyness and strain. Three days had passed since Bedford’s return, the story of the wreck had been told—how much, how little, had Dorothea divined? Each moment Katrine braced herself to hear a name—two names; when time passed on without mention of either, the silence but added to her strain.
At each turn of the dusty path she glanced ahead with shrinking eyes, each bungalow held a possibility, a dread. Did he live there? Was he perhaps even now looking out from behind those shrouding-blinds? And of what was Dorothea thinking as she sat so silently by her side? The look in her sweet, tired eyes, the clinging touch of the thin hand were so eloquent of love that Katrine’s heart could not but be content with her welcome, but her thoughts were awhirl.
It was a relief to both women when the bungalow was reached, and the appearance of the small son set their tongues free. Dorothea flushed with pride as she listened to her friend’s appreciation of her son’s beauty and charm, and the urchin, scenting the arrival of a new slave, put forth his best wiles. He was a beautiful child, but in a colourless, fragile fashion which differentiated him sadly from the children at home. As Katrine held his limp little hand and looked at the tracery of blue veins on the delicate forehead, her heart swelled with pity and tenderness.
“I held a child, a little boy like this, in my arms all the time in,—in the boat, Doll!” she said softly. “He comforted me! I realised then—what it might mean—”
“Yes!” Dorothea’s voice had an edge of pain. Her own treasure was held by so frail a thread that the value of him could not be discussed. Katrine divined as much, and switched the conversation to the safer subject of appearances.
“He’s adorable, Doll. A gem! Beyond all my dreams. And such a discreet blend! Your eyes, and Jack’s nose. Jack’s hair, your complexion—”
“Ah, my dear, that’s a lost joy! Don’t talk of complexions to me, and you so pink and white. Katrine, you are so pretty! I never thought you were going to be so pretty, though, of course, I’ve had photographs.”
Involuntarily Katrine’s eyes turned towards the mantelpiece, where a certain photograph had been wont to stand, a bold photograph which had made eyes at bachelor guests; had first pitied, and then decoyed. “I give you my word it looked as if it wanted to come!” The blood rose in her cheeks; looking across the room at Dorothea, she perceived that she also had flushed. Had she read the unspoken thought?
Once again the child’s garrulity came to the rescue, but while she played with him and drank her tea Katrine was conscious that Dorothea’s eyes were wandering towards the clock, and that she was summoning courage for an announcement which had to be made.
Presently it came.