"God will reward you for your unfailing goodness, my best of friends, my brother!" said Kathleen. "What should I do without you, my aunt, and dear, kind Ger?"
Kathleen's words were few, but her heart was full of thankfulness to the friends whom all her past wilfulness had failed to alienate.
Little has been said of late about Mountain, the faithful, self-opinionated, crusty coachman, who, despite his old dislike to Mr. Torrance, was still at the Hall. Kathleen had begged that she might retain him, and John Torrance, knowing the value of honesty and unimpeachable trustworthiness, had consented. The old man, however, always insisted that he served "Miss Kathleen as was," not Mr. Torrance. To him Aylmer would telegraph if needful, not to Kathleen, during his search for Kenneth.
Aylmer found that Mr. Torrance had booked for St. Pancras, and he was about to do the same, when a sudden inspiration stopped him.
Hollingsby was only two hours from London. Two trains left within a few minutes of each other, one express, the other slow. Mr. Torrance hated slow travelling, yet Aylmer easily ascertained that he had allowed the express to pass, though he might have had it stopped, and gone by slow train.
Aylmer at once decided that the London ticket was a mere blind, and that father and child would be set down at Earlsford Junction, ten miles away.
"I will make further inquiries," he thought. "Besides, there is no need to fear for Kenneth, and I must not risk a meeting with his father yet."
At seven that evening Mr. Torrance returned flushed and excited, but with an air of triumph. Kathleen schooled herself to meet him calmly, and asked in a natural tone, "Where is Kenneth, John? Have you given him to nurse? It is late for him to be out."
She trembled visibly, though she strove not to show her anxiety.
"You ask where our boy is. I will tell you after dinner, on certain conditions. In the meanwhile, let me say he is with those who will teach him to obey—a lesson he would hardly learn from you."