"Wheesht, Alick!" said the doctor. And said no more for a little. For, like every one else, he loved the soft-hearted giant.
Then Alick beckoned the station master to him from the door of the left-luggage office, where he stood nervously clasping and unclasping his hands. The station master came and bent his head.
"The boat train," whispered Muckle Alick, "ye'll hae to enter her in the shedule five meenites late. But ye can say that she passed Netherby wi' the signals standing at clear."
He was silent a moment. Then he looked up again.
"Mind ye, there's to be nocht said aboot it in the papers. You'll see to that, will ye no? It's my wish. An' if the company likes to do aught, it'll aye be a help to Mirren."
There was a sound of sobbing at the door, and the station master shoved the youngest porter out on the platform with his foot.
"Has—ony—body gaen to tell Mirren?" asked Alick in a little.
The doctor nodded. He had, in fact, sent his own coachman to Sandyknowes with a gig.
"Puir Mirren," said Alick again, "I'm some dootsome that she'll tak' this hard. She was na looking for it, like."
He looked about apologetically again.