Four weeks passed and heavy were the days with anxiety, for I had received no word from Guinea. I thought of a hundred causes that must have kept her from writing, but, worst of all, I feared that she had written and that the letter had gone astray.

One afternoon, having thrown my book aside, weary of causes, reasonings and developments of law, I sat on a rock near the spring, musing, wondering, when suddenly I sprang to my feet, with Guinea in my mind, with Guinea before me, I thought. But this was only for an instant. A young deer came down the path, gracefully leaping, and my mind flew back to the time when I had first seen her running down that shining strip of hard-beat earth. Yes, it was a deer, and it ran down the brook, and presently I heard the hounds yelping in the woods. I returned to my room and again I strove to study, but the logical phrasing was harsh to me, and I threw down the book. I would fish in the pools that lay along the stream toward the mill. The ground in the yard and about the barn was so dry that I could find no angle worms, and I decided to dig in the damp moss-land near the spring. The hoe struck a hard substance and out came something bright. I stooped to examine it, and at first I thought that it was silver, but it was not—it was mica. I scraped off the moss and the thin strata of earth, and there I found a great bed of the ore. I dug deeper and it came up in chunks, and it was fine and flawless. My reading taught me that it was valuable, and I was rejoiced to find that it was on my own land. I got out as much as I could carry—indeed, I filled a trunk with it, and then carefully replaced the moss, smoothed it down and made it look as if it had not been displaced. My blood tingled with excitement and I was afraid that some one might have seen me. I took the trunk to my room and split off thin sheets of the mica, and the more I looked at it the more I was thrilled at the prospect that now lay, not in the future, but under my touch. And I was not long in resolving upon a course to pursue. I remembered that into our neighborhood had come from Nashville, Tenn., a large stove with mica in the doors, and I thought it would be wise to take my trunk to that city and by exhibiting its contents induce some one to buy the mine. I hastened to town, after hiding the trunk, and told Conkwright and Alf that unexpected business called me away for a few days, and then I returned home and hired a man to drive me to the railway station. I was afraid to trust the trunk out of my sight, but I had to let the baggage man take it, but I charged him to be particular with it, telling him that it was full of iron ore. He gave it a jerk and declared that it must be full of lead. When I had come into that community I fancied that the train was on wings, but now it appeared to be crawling. Night came and I was afraid that robbers might assail the train and expose my secret; but at last I reached Nashville, and then came a worry. How was I to find the man who had made the stove? I took my trunk to a hotel, wrapped a chunk of the mica in a handkerchief and set out to look for a stove dealer. I soon found a hardware establishment, and in I walked with the hardened air of business, and asked for the proprietor. A pleasant-looking man came forward, and I asked him what mica was worth. He looked at me sharply and answered that he was not thoroughly informed as to the state of the market, but that he thought it was worth all the way from five to twenty-five dollars a pound. "But mica of the first quality is scarce," said he, and then he asked if I wanted to buy mica.

"No, sir, I want to sell it. Is this of good quality?"

I unwrapped the handkerchief and his eyes stuck out in astonishment. "Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Off my land in North Carolina."

"Have you very much of it?" he asked, scaling off thin sheets with his knife.

"Tons of it."

"You don't say so! Then you've got a fortune. We are not very large manufacturers and don't use a great deal. How much did you bring with you?"

"Only a trunk full."

"Well, I guess we can take that much. Bring it around."

I did so, and I could scarcely believe that I had correctly caught his words when he offered me five hundred dollars, though now I know that he paid me much less than it was worth. He talked a long time with his partner, and then came back to me with the money, asked my name and a number of other questions. "Young man," said he, "if we had the ready means we would buy that mine, but we haven't. Now, I tell you what you do: Take a sample—this piece—and go at once to Chicago. I know of some capitalists there who are making large investments in the South, and I have no doubt that they will be pleased to make you an offer for your property. Here, I'll write their names on a card. To tell you the truth, we are to some extent interested with them. Now, don't show this sample to anyone else, but go straight to Clarm & Ging, Rookery building, Chicago. Anybody can tell you where it is. Here's the card. We'll telegraph them that you are coming, so you are somewhat in honor bound, you understand, not to go elsewhere—we have in some degree sealed the transaction with a part purchase, you see."

I walked out of that house, dazed, bewildered with my own luck. And I took passage on the first train for Chicago. If money could clear Alf, he would now be cleared, and proudly I mused over the great difference that I would make between his first and his last trial. But during all this time I was conscious of a heaviness—the silence of Guinea.

The train reached Chicago at morning. And now I was in the midst of a whirl and a roar—a confused babbling at the base of Babel's tower. And as I walked up a street I thought that a tornado had broken loose and that I was in the center of it. I called a hackman, for my reading taught me what to do, and I told him to drive me to the Rookery. He rattled away and came within one of being upset by other vehicles, and I yelled at him to be more particular, but on he went, paying no attention to me. After a while he drew up in front of a building as big as a lopped-off spur of a mountain range; and when I got out I found that the vitals of the hurricane had shifted with me, for the roar and the confusion was worse, was gathering new forces. But no one laughed at me, no one pointed me out, and I really felt quite pleased with myself—a school-teacher, a lawyer's assistant, expected by a capitalist! I went under a marble arch-way, and asked a man if he knew Clarm & Ging, and he pointed to an elevator—I knew what it was—and shouted a number. I got in and was shot to the eighth floor. I knocked at a door, but no one opened it. There was no bell to ring, so I knocked louder and still no one opened the door. This was hardly the courtesy that I expected. But while I was standing there a man came along and went in without knocking. I thought that he must be one of the men I was looking for, and I followed him, but he simply looked round after going in and then went out again without saying anything. I saw a man sitting at a desk, and I handed him the card which the hardware dealer had given me. He looked at it and said: "Yes, you are Hawes, eh? Where's your mica."

I gave it to him, and he looked at it closely through a microscope. "How deep have you gone?"

"Not more than six inches."

"That so? Much of this size?"

"Train loads, I should think."

"Ah, hah. How much land does it cover?"

"Don't know exactly. Haven't investigated."

And this question set me to thinking. The mine was well on my land, but it might spread out beyond my lines. It was important that I should buy several acres surrounding the stretch of moss, and I decided to do this immediately upon my return home.

"Let's see," said the capitalist. "This is Friday. Mr. Clarm is out of town and will not be back until Monday—has a summer home in St. Jo, Mich., and is over there. It's just across the lake. Suppose we go over there to-morrow morning. Boat leaves at nine. Be a pleasant trip. All right."

He resumed his work as if my acceptance of his proposition was a foreshadowed necessity. "How did you happen to find it?" he asked, without looking up from his work.

"I was digging for angle worms."

He grunted. "Didn't find any worms, did you?"

"No, I don't think I did."

"I know you didn't. Worms and mica don't exist in the same soil. Very rugged?""Rocks on each side."

I was determined to be business-like, not to give him information unless he asked for it; and I sat there, studying him. He was direct and this pleased me, for it bespoke a quick decision. But after a time I grew tired of looking upon his absorption, for his mood was unvarying, and he held one position almost without change, so I began to walk about, looking at the pictures of factories and of mines, hung on the walls. The day was hot and the windows were up, and I looked down on the ant-working industry in the street. How different from the view that lay out of my window in the old log house; but I was resolved to draw no long bow of astonishment, for in a man's surprise is a reflex of his ignorance.

"What business?" the capitalist asked, still without looking up.

"None, you might say. Have taught school, but of late I have employed my time with studying law."

He looked round at me and then resumed his work. A long time passed. I heard his watch snap and then he got up.

"We'll go out and get a bite to eat," he said. "Any particular place?"

"No," I answered, pleased that he should presume that I was acquainted with the eating houses of the town.

We stepped out into the hall and he yelled: "Down!" He shoved me into an elevator among a number of men and women, and though we were all jammed together no one appeared to notice me; but when we got out a boy whistled at a companion and yelled: "Hi, Samson!" Mr. Ging darted out under the arch, and I almost ran over him, when he halted on the sidewalk to talk to a man. They walked along together for quite a distance, nodding and making gestures, and when they separated Ging said to me that he had just bought a subdivision of real estate. At this I appeared to be pleased, but I was not; I was afraid that before the close of the deal he might entangle himself in so many transactions that he could not afford to pay cash for the mica mine. The further we went the faster he walked, and suddenly he darted through a wall, and the swinging doors came back and slapped me in the face. We sat down to a table and Mr. Ging said that I might take whatever I desired, but that he wanted only a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. I was hungry, had eaten no breakfast and felt as if I could devour a beef steak as big as a saddle skirt, but I said that coffee and apple pie would do me. He asked me a number of questions concerning the mine, its distance from a railway, condition of the wagon roads, and especially did he want to know whether the local tax assessor made it a point to discriminate against the non-resident property owner. I caught the spirit of his quick utterances, and blew out my words in a splutter, striving to be business-like, but before I could cover all his points he had eaten his pie and was impatiently waiting for me.

"Want to go round to-night?" he asked, and before I could tell him that I did want to go round, having but a vague idea as to what he meant, he added: "And if I can get off this afternoon I'll take you out to the stock-yards."

"I would much rather see your finest library," I replied.

"I guess you've got me there; don't know where it is, but I suppose we can find it in the directory."

"I have read of the Art Institute here. You know where that is, I presume."

"Y-e-s—low building over on the lake front. But I've never had time to go into it. Well, suppose we get back to the office."

I raced with him, but he beat me by a neck, being more accustomed to the track; and he shouted "Up!" as he darted under the marble arch. I grabbed him and held him for a moment, told him that I did not care to go up again so soon, that I would stroll about for a time and see him after a while.

"Yes, but you'll come back, eh? I guess we'll take that mine if we can agree upon terms. We own one in Colorado. Don't fail to come back. Up!"

I went out into the center of the maelstrom and laughed at him—a capitalist keeping pace with indigestion, racing against time. Little wonder that he was bald and pinched.

I thought that I would find a leisurely place and slowly eat a dinner, and I did find many places, but none of them was leisurely. I went to a hotel, and there I ate a meal without running the risk of having my chair thrown over, and then I returned to the Rookery. Mr. Ging was lost in his work, and in a room which opened into his apartment two girls were hammering a race on writing machines. I walked into this room, and the girls went on with their work as if I were at home looking over toward the General's house instead of looking down at them. A bell tinkled in Ging's room. One of the girls went to him and I heard him talking rapidly to her, and presently she came back with a pad of paper in her hand, and furiously attacked her machine. Ging rushed out into the hall and both machines stopped, and the girls began to nibble at bon-bons, but a moment later they dashed at their work, for Ging had returned. I went back into his room, and, glancing round, I saw one of the girls look up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. I knew that she was making fun of me, and in my heart I confessed myself her enemy.

"I'm sorry," said Ging, "but I don't believe I can get off this afternoon. Clarm's being out of town puts double work on me. But we'll go round to-night. You've been here quite often, I suppose."

"Well, not lately," I replied.

"No? Then we can find a good many things to interest you."

I went out again and walked about, but I did not venture far beyond the shadow of the Rookery, for I knew that should I get turned round I would be ashamed to inquire the way back. I saw a man standing on a box selling pens. He had a most fluent use of words, though I could see that he was not educated. He interested his hearers with humorous stories, as if his business were first to entertain the public and then to pick up a living, and for the first time it struck me that book-knowledge did not embrace everything, that people who simply read get but a second-hand experience. We must observe form and recognize the rules which good taste has drawn, but after all the finest form and the most nearly perfect rule is an inborn judgment. The merest accident may thrill a dull man with genius. I knew a young man who was commonplace until he was taken down with a fever, and when he got up his business sense was gone, but he wrote a parody that made this country shout with laughter. Thus I mused as I looked at that fellow selling pens. He was a rascal, no doubt, but I was forced to admire his vivid fancy, his genius.

When I returned to the Rookery I found Ging waiting for me. "Now," said he, "we'll go out for a while and then eat dinner. Would you mind going out about twelve miles? Train every few minutes. I've got some real estate that I'd like to show you—might cut an important figure in our transaction."

"I don't want it to cut any figure in our transaction," I replied. "I want to sell the mine for money."

"Yes, of course, but you might double your money on the real estate."

"That may be true, but I am not a speculator; and if you are not prepared to pay money, why, it is useless to waste further time."

"Of course. No time has been wasted and none shall be. You may trust me when it comes to the question of wasting time. I didn't know but you might like a home out at Sweet Myrtle. Beautiful place—gas, water, side-walks, sewers. But if you don't want to go, it's all right. Let me tell you right now that we are prepared to pay cash for your mine. We represent millions in the East. Well, we'll go."

That night we went to a theater, and to me Mr. Ging was a dull companion. He yawned and stretched through Shakspeare's mighty play, while I was in a tingling ecstasy. He said that the fellow could not act, and that may have been true, but to me there was no actor, but a real Hamlet; no stage, but the court at Elsinore. He said that he would call at the hotel in time to catch the boat, and I was glad when he left me to my own thoughts. At 9 o'clock the next morning we went on board a great white boat, so fresh, so full of interest to me that I was in a state of delight, of new expectancy, and when we steamed out into the lake I could scarcely repress a cry of joy so thrilling was the view. I had never seen a large body of water, had striven to picture the majesty of a wave, and now I stood with poetry rolling about me—now a deep-blue elegy, now a limpid lyric, varying in hue with the shifting of a luminous fleece-work, far above. To have been born and brought up amid great scenes were surely a privilege, but to come upon them for the first time when the mind is ripe, when the senses are yearning for a new impression, is indeed a blessing. Short were the sixty miles of our journey, it seemed to me, but Ging was bored and impatiently he snapped his watch, and said that we were at least fifteen minutes late. After having lost all view of the land, how strangely novel was the sight of the shore, and to fancy myself in a foreign harbor was the most natural of conceits.

At the wharf we took a carriage and were driven through the town, out by many a dreamy orchard side, up a bluff-banked river to a large frame house, high on a hill. Clarm was walking about in the yard, and with an ease and politeness which I had not expected—having permitted Ging to influence my preconception of his partner's character—he shook hands with me and invited me into the house. The sample of mica was closely inspected, numerous questions were asked, and after a time Mr. Clarm said that it would be well for Mr. Ging to go home with me. I had kept in mind the determination to buy a few more acres of land, and I knew that this might not be an easy transaction if Ging should accompany me, thereby exciting a suspicion in Parker's mind, so I replied that I was not going straightway home, being compelled by other business to stop for a day in Kentucky. "But it is, of course, necessary for Mr. Ging to see the mine, and he can start the day after I leave and reach Purdy on the day I arrive," I added.

They agreed to this, as Ging was the principal in another deal that must be brought to a close; and after declining an invitation to dinner, I took my leave, feeling that I was a liar, it is true, but I thought that my deception was not only pardonable, but, indeed, a commendable piece of fore-sight. I am free to say that a man, in order to protect his commercial interests, must be an easy and a nimble liar; and I do not hold that a man who permits himself to be cheated simply that he may snatch the chance to tell a truth—I say that I could not regard him a prudent husband or a wise father. Divide the last cent with a friend, harden not thy heart against the distressed, but in the warfare of business seek to steal an enemy's advantage. It was with this argument that I sought to appease my conscience as I strolled about the town, but more than once I halted, thinking to tell them the truth. But judgment—permit me to term it judgment—finally influenced me to let the false statement stand.

Out from the town were numerous lanes, soft with turf, and with orchards on every side. Amid the darkened green I saw the yellowing pear, the red flash of the apple; and from amid the bushes blackberries peeped like the eyes of a deer. At the end of a lane was a deep ravine, one side a grassy slope, the other a terraced vineyard, and up this romantic rent I walked, in a Switzerland, a France. On the green slope was a cottage, with a high fence behind it, and as I drew near I thought that it would be a soothing privilege to enter the house and talk with the humble people who lived therein. Suddenly there came a shout that sent a spurt of blood to my heart——

"Hike, there, Sam! Hike, there, Bob—hike, there!"

I ran to the fence, grasped the top, drew myself up and looked over into the small inclosure; and there was old Lim Jucklin, down on his knees, beating the ground with his hat. I let myself drop and ran round the gate, opened it without noise and stepped inside. The old man now held one of the chickens by the neck and was putting him into a coop.

"Oh, it would suit you to fight to a finish, wouldn't it? And you may, one of these days, as soon as I hear from down yander. Git in there. Come here, Bob. You've got to go in, too. Caught you on the top-knot, didn't he? Well, you must learn to dodge better. Ain't quite as peart as one of the other Bobs I could tell you about. Now, boys, you are all right, but I want you to understand—-well, since Moses hit the rock!" he cried, scrambling to his feet. "Hold on, now, don't you tech me—don't know whether you are Bill or Bill's ghost. By jings, if it ain't Bill, I'm a calf's rennet. Since Moses hit the rock!"

He grabbed me and hung upon me, and I put my arm about him. "Don't tell me nuthin' now, Bill. Don't want to hear a word, for I'm deefer than a horse block."

"You have nothing to fear, Mr. Jucklin. I bring good news. Alf isn't out yet, but he will be. I have other news——"

"But don't tell me. Deefer than a horse-block. What did I do with that d——d handkerchief? Take that back—kiver to kiver. Had it in my hat a minit ago. Sand from this here lake shore gits in a feller's eyes. Ain't got used to it yet. Hope the Lord will excuse me for cussin' like a sailor. Must have got it from them fellers down on the lake shore. Kiver to kiver. Now let us go into the house. Door's round there facin' the holler. Let me go in first; you stand outside. Sand's blowin' up from the lake and gits in their eyes, too. Ain't used to it yet. Come on."

There were hollyhocks in front of the house and among them I stood waiting for the old man to open the door.

"Susan," he said, as he stepped into the room, "this here world—this one right here—is as full of surprises as a chicken is with—with—I don't know what. Now, don't you take on none, but—come in, Bill."

The old woman started forward with a cry and threw her arms about me. "There now," old Lim protested, wiping his eyes, "don't take on that way. Everything's all right. Set down here now and let's be sensible. That's it. Oh, she's all right, Bill—her folks stood at the stake. Guinea's comin' down stairs."

Toward the stairway I looked, and Guinea stepped down into the room. And oh, the smile on her lips as she came toward me! But she did not hold out her hands—she came close to me, and her bended head almost touched me, but her hands were held behind her, clasped, I could see. "Not yet," she said, looking up with a smile. "But you must not think ill of me, must not be provoked. Let me have my whimsical way until my whole life shall be yours.""She's talkin' like a book!" the old man cried. "Let her talk like one, Bill. Don't exactly grab her drift as I'd like to, but I know it's all right. Gracious alive, why don't you women folks git him something to eat? And, me, too, for I'm as hungry as the she bear that eat up the children. I wish you'd all set down. Turn him loose, Susan. Ain't nothin' the matter with him—hungry as a wolf, that's all. Now we are gettin' at it."

With the door open and with a cool breeze blowing, with the sweetness of ripening fruit in the air, with the hollyhocks nodding at us, we sat in that modest room, at home in a strange place. I told them all that had befallen me. I gradually led up to the discovery of the mine. "And now," I added, "we go back there, not poor, but rich. There is no telling how many dollars they may give us."

"Not us, Bill," the old man interposed, slowly shaking his head; "not us, but you. It's yours, all yours. You bought the land and all that's on it or under it belongs to you."

"No, Mr. Jucklin, it belongs to you, to Alf and to me. There will be enough for us all, but no matter how little, you and Alf shall share it. I am just beginning fully to realize it—but I know that we are rich. It is necessary for me to get back at once," I added. "I'll have to buy some land from Parker, but I told Clarm & Ging that I was going to stop for a day in Kentucky. I didn't want them to know that I intended to buy more land. It's none of their business, anyway. So I must be in Purdy one day ahead of Ging. I've got money with me and we'll all start this evening."

The old man sadly shook his head. "I can't do it, Bill; can't go back yet. If he comes clear, without a scratch on him, I'll go back, but if he don't I'll never see that state again. So we'll wait right here till after the next trial. Won't settle on anything until then. You go ahead and attend to everything and let me know how it all comes out. I've been scared ever since I left there, afraid that I'd hear something by some chance or other; and I wouldn't let Guinea write to you. Every day I'd tell her 'not yet.' She wanted to, but I wouldn't let her."

"You shall have your own way, for I know that everything will come out right. Conkwright says so, and he knows. How did you happen to find this place?"

The old man laughed. "Well, sir, we got on the train, and when the man asked where we wanted to go I told him we'd go just as far as he did, it made no difference how far that might happen to be; and every time we'd change cars I'd tell the other man the same thing. But finally they got so stuck up that they wouldn't let us get on without tickets, and at Louisville I bought tickets for Chicago. I didn't know what to do when I got to Chicago—didn't know what to do when I got to any place, for that matter; but we poked around, gettin' a bite to eat every once in a while, and slept in the slambangin'est place I ever saw. The lake caught me, and I found out how soon the first boat went out, and we got on her and here we are. When I told these here folks where I was from I braced myself, expectin' to have a fight right there, but I want to tell you that I was never better treated in my life. All the good folks ain't huddled together in one community, I tell you; and this knockin' round has opened my eyes mightily. Why, I rickollect when they sorter looked down on Conkwright because his father wa'n't born in the South. Yes, sir, and they gave me work right off—that is, they call it work, but I call it play—gatherin' fruit. Why, with us, when a feller wanted to rest he'd go out and gather fruit, if he could find any. Yes, sir, and I'm goin' to stay right here till the cat makes her final jump one way or another."

How fondly they listened as I talked about the old place, of well-known trees, of the big rock on the brink of the ravine. I even told them that the General lamented the breaking of the engagement, that he had come as an agent, that his son was at fault. Guinea smiled at this, and I thought that her eyes grew darker.

I learned that my train was not to leave until night. I was glad of this, for it gave me a sweet lingering time; and in the afternoon Guinea and I went down to the river.

"We will get a boat and row up past the island, away up to the beautiful hills," she said. "But can you row?" she asked, with a look of concern.

"I have pulled a boat against a swifter current than this." I answered. "I lived near the bank of a rapid stream."

We got into a graceful boat and skimmed easily over the water. Now it was my time to wonder and to muse over the changes that had come—to dream as I looked at her, as she sat, trailing her hand in the water, her hand, my hand, though she had not let me take it to help her into the boat. With her a swamp would have been attractive, but here we were in a paradise. Boats up and down the river; lovers went by, singing. On one shore the scene was quiet, with easy slopes and with houses here and there; but the other shore was wild with bluffs, with tangled vines and monstrous trees that storms had gnarled and twisted. Here a spring gushed out with a gleeful laugh, and lovers paused to listen, and in its flow the city oarsman cooled his blistered hands.

"Guinea, do you see that high bluff up there among the pine trees?"

"Yes, and isn't it a charming place?"

"I'm glad you think so?"

"Why are you glad of that?"

"Because you—I mean a woman who has had her way—because she may live there. When at last she is tired of that way, and when she has gone to a man with her hands held out, he will take her to a house built on that bluff, a summer home. I'm not joking. Next year there will be a beautiful home up there. Don't you see, the land is for sale? And in the house a man is going to write a history of a woman who had her way and of a man who—well, I hardly know what to say about him, but I am not going to hide his faults nor cover up his weaknesses."

"Are you really in earnest, Mr. Hawes?""Yes, I mean every word of it. Wouldn't you—I mean, wouldn't the woman who had persisted in having her way—wouldn't she like a home up there?"

In her voice was the musical cluck that so often had charmed me. "She would be happy anywhere with the man who had permitted her to have her way, and I know that she would be delighted to live up there. And you—I mean the man—-wouldn't have any of the trees cut down, would he?"

"Not one. He would build the house in that open place."

"Charming," she said. "How sweet a religion could be made of a life up there, with the river and the hills and the island—beautiful."

"Guinea, I wish you would tell me something. Did you ever really love—him?"

"When I have come to you as I told you I would come, you will not have to ask me anything."

"But can you give me some idea as to how long I may have to wait? My confidence in you is complete, but you must know that to wait is painful. Suppose that a certain something that you are waiting for—suppose that nothing should come of it? What then?"

"No matter what takes place, I will come to you. I know that it must appear foolish, I know that I am but vague in what I try to make you understand, but—you will wait a while longer, won't you?"

Her voice was so pleading, her manner was so full of distress, that I hastened to tell her that I would wait no matter how long she might deign to hold me off, and that never again could she find cause to reprove my impatience. She thanked me with a smile and with many an endearing word, and onward we went, the boats passing us, the songs of lovers reaching us from above and below. We landed and climbed the bluff, and I selected the exact spot whereon the house was to be; we loitered in the shade and counted the minutes as they flew away like pigeons from a trap, but we could not shoot them and bring them back; so they were gone, and it was soon time for us to go, for the light of the sun was weakening. Down the river we went, singing "Juanita," she rippling the water with her hand, I half-hearted in my rowing, dreamily wishing that the train might leave me.

Close to me at the door she stood. The old man was outside, waiting to go with me to the railway station. She bowed her head and I kissed her hair.