"Thank heaven, you have come," was the joyous reply.
"Here," and she stepped to one side and revealed a little girl who was gazing out at the tracks. "I've had such a time with that brat and I'll never travel with another again. I've just got time to catch my train for St. Paul. Good-bye!" Whereupon, disregarding Ella's cries and her protestations, the woman rushed madly to the other end of the depot and disappeared through a gate which closed behind her with a slam. It was the last call for the St. Paul train.
Naturally, Ella did not know what to do. She hung around the depot for half an hour, hoping someone would claim the child. Then she put the little one in a cab and gave the Careys' address in Indiana Avenue.
Walter Haines went to the Lake Shore depot. One of the first passengers to emerge from the New York train was a female, who seemed to answer the general description furnished by Carey. She was breathless as if from running faster than an old woman should run. As she reached Haines, she stopped and glared at him.
"Mrs. Smith?" he inquired, lifting his hat.
The woman grabbed him by the arm. "I knew you would be here, but hurry, that man is after me!"
"What man?" asked Haines in surprise.
"Hush, we cannot talk now," was the reply. "Get a carriage and drive fast, fast; we must escape him."
"George couldn't come, he sent me. My name is Haines," said the puzzled escort.