acked with so many high hopes, now riding alone on a
great truck. Of all the baggage which that truck had borne to the lading
of the ship, hers was the only little, lonely piece to come back!

CHAPTER XVII

REACTION

In the darkness of the summer midnight Georgiana descended from the
"owl" train, the only passenger, as it happened, to alight at the small
station. She had hoped to slip away unobserved for the half-mile walk
home, but the station master was too quick for her. He was a young
station master, and he had known Georgiana Warne all his life--from
afar.

"Well, I certainly did think I'd seen a ghost," said he, confronting
her. "I thought you'd gone to Europe. Get a message to come back? Your
father ain't took sick, has he?"

"No, I hope not. I--something happened to make it best for me to come
back."

"Well, that's too bad, sure," said he, curiously regarding her. "Say,
wait five minutes and I'll walk down the road with you. It's pretty late
for you to be out alone."

"Thank you, Mr. Parker; I don't mind a bit, and I'm anxious to get on.
I've only this small bag to carry, and it's bright moonlight. No, truly,
please don't come. Good-night, and thank you."

Could this really be herself, Georgiana Warne, she wondered, as she made
her escape and walked rapidly away down the road under the high arches
of the elms. How had it come about? Why was she here, she who had
expected to be out on the first reaches of the great deep when midnight
came this night? As she passed silent house after silent house, familiar
and yet somehow strangely unfamiliar in the light of what might have
been, it was hard enough to realize that she had had this wonderful
chance to stay away for two happy months from the sober little old
place, and had herself relinquished it.

Before she knew it she was nearing her home, the old white house
standing square and stern in the moonlight--she had been seeing it all
the way in the train. She loved it dearly, no doubt of that, but it had
been no attack of homesickness which had brought her back to it.

As she came up the path she saw, past the sweeping branches of the great
trees which surrounded the house, that Mr. Jefferson's windows were
still alight. This was no surprise, for she knew he had often worked
till late hours before she began to help him; and it looked as if, now
that he had to continue alone, he meant to keep up the rate of advance
by working overtime.

Georgiana