platform--Polly looking for the pony cart. Was it old Wilson, or Mr.
Helbeck? Wilson, of course! And yet--yet--she knew that Wilson had been
away in Whinthorpe on farm business all day. And Mr. Helbeck was careful
of the old man. Ah well! there would be something--and someone--to meet
her when she arrived. Her heart knew that.

Now they were crossing the estuary. The moon was rising over the sands,
and those far hills, the hills of Bannisdale. There on the further bank
were the lights of Braeside. She had forgotten to ask whether they
changed at the junction--probably the Marsland train would be waiting.

The Greet!--its voice was in her ears, its many channels shone in the
flooding light. How near the hills seemed!--just a moonlight walk along
the sands, and one was there, under the old tower and the woods. The
sands were dangerous, people said. There were quicksands among them, and
one must know the paths. Ah! well--she smiled. Humdrum trains and cabs
were good enough for her to-night.

She hung at the open window, looking down into the silver water. How
strange, after these ghastly hours, to feel yourself floating in beauty
and peace--a tremulous peace--like this? The world going your way--the
soul yielding itself to fate--taking no more painful thought for the
morrow----

* * * * *

"Braeside! All change!"

Laura sprang from the carriage. The station clock opposite told her to
her dismay that it was nearly half-past eleven.