gazed out of the window blankly. In some vague dim way I saw we were
passing between rocky hills, pine-clad and beautiful, with deep
glimpses now and then into the riven gorge of a noble river. But I
didn't even realise to myself that these were Canadian hills--those
were the heights of Abraham--that was the silver St. Lawrence. It
all passed by like a living dream. I sat still in my chair, as one
stunned and faint; I gazed out, more dead than alive, on the
unfamiliar scene that unrolled itself in exquisite panorama before
me. Quebec and the Laurentian hills were to me half unreal: the
inner senses alone were awake and conscious.

Presently a gentle voice at my side broke, not at all unpleasantly,
the current of my reflections. It was a lady's voice, very sweet and
musical.

"I'm afraid," it said kindly, with an air of tender solicitude, "you
only just caught the train, and were hurried and worried and
flurried at the last at the station. You look so white and tired.
How your breath comes and goes! And I think you're new to our
Canadian ways. I saw you didn't understand about the checks for the
baggage. Let me take away this bag and put it up in the rack for
you. Here's a footstool for your feet; that'll make you more
comfortable."

At the first sound of her sweet voice, I turned to look at the
speaker. She was a girl, perhaps a year or two younger than myself,
very slender and graceful, and with eyes like a mother's. She wasn't
exactly pretty, but her face was so full of intelligence and
expression that it was worth a great deal more than any doll-like
prettiness.