"If you had it with you now, I should love it for your sake," said Emmy
with a sob.

"If you would take my advice and rest in the cottage, I could send for it,"
he replied unsmilingly.

"We must catch the train," said Emmy.

In Wirley, half a mile further, folks were stirring. A cart laden with
market produce waited by a cottage door for the driver who stood swallowing
his final cup of tea. A bare-headed child clung round his leg, an attendant
Hebe. The wanderers halted.

"If the other cart could have taken us back to Nunsmere," said Septimus,
with the air of a man who has arrived at Truth, "this one can carry us to
the station."

And so it fell out. The men made Emmy as comfortable as could be among the
cabbages, with some sacks for rugs, and there she lay drowsy with pain and
weariness until they came to the end of their journey.

A gas-light or two accentuated the murky dismalness of the little station.
Emmy sank exhausted on a bench in the booking hail, numb with cold, and too
woebegone to think of her hair, which straggled limply from beneath the
zibeline toque. Septimus went to the booking office and asked for two
first-class tickets to London. When he joined her again she was crying
softly.

"You're coming with me? It is good of you."