Helbeck of Bannisdale — Volume II by Ward, Humphry, Mrs., 1851-1920

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Meanwhile, in another carriage, Laura leant back with shut eyes, pursued by one waking dream after another. Shadow and flame--the whirling sparks--the cry!--that awful wrenching of the heart in her breast--the parting crowd, and the white-faced child, phantom-like, in its midst. She sat up, shaken anew by the horror of it, trying to put it from her.

The carriage was now empty. All the other travellers had dismounted, and she seemed to be rushing through the summer night alone. For the long daylight was nearly done. The purple of the June evening was passing into the more mysterious purple of the starlight; a clear and jewelled sky hung softly over valleys with "seaward parted lips," over woods with the wild rose bushes shining dimly at their edge; over knolls of rocky ground, crowned with white spreading farms; over those distant forms to the far north where the mountains melted into the night.

Her heart was still wrung for the orphaned child--prized yesterday, no doubt--they said he was a good father!--desolate to-day--like herself. "Daddy!--where's Daddy?" She laid her brow against the window-sill and let the tears come again, as she thought of that trembling cry. For it was her own--the voice of her own hunger--orphan to orphan.

And yet, after this awful day--this never to be forgotten shock and horror--she was not unhappy. Rather, a kind of secret joy possessed her as the train sped onward. Her nature seemed to be sinking wearily into soft gulfs of reconciliation and repose. Froswick, with its struggle and death, its newness and restlessness, was behind her--she was going home, to the old house, with its austerity and peace.

Home? Bannisdale, home? How strange! But she was too tired to fight herself to-night--she let the word pass. In her submission to it there was a secret pleasure.

... The first train had come in by now. Eagerly, she saw Polly on the 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.