"Come back for me now at any rate—in an hour," she said in another voice. "Please take me to the train—of course. I must go then."
"Oh, Laura, I can't wait!" cried Polly from the stairs—"I wish I could. But mother's sending Daffady with the cart—and she'd be that cross."
Laura came out to the stairway.
"Don't wait. Just tell the carriage—mind"—she hung over the banisters,
enforcing the words—"tell them that I'm coming by the later train.
They're not to send down for me again—I can get a cab at the inn. Mind,
Polly,—did you hear?"
She bent forward, caught Polly's assent, and ran back to the child.
* * * * *
An hour later Mason found Laura with little Nelly lying heavily asleep in her arms. At sight of him she put finger on lip, and, rising, carried the child to her bed. Tenderly she put her down—tenderly kissed the little hand. The child's utter sleep seemed to soothe her, for she turned away with a smile on her blanched lips. She gave money to Mrs. Starr, who was to nurse the little one for a week, and then, it seemed to Mason, she was all alacrity, all eagerness to go.
"Oh! but we're late!" she said, looking at her watch in the street. And she hastily put her head out of the window and implored the cabman to hurry.
Mason said nothing.
The station, when they reached it, was in a Saturday night ferment. Trains were starting and arriving, the platforms were packed with passengers.