As she paused, Mrs. Poynsett, in a choked voice, said, “Thank you, dear child;” when there were steps in the hall.  Anne started up, Lenore buried her face on Mrs. Poynsett’s bosom, the mother clasped her hands over her convulsively, then beheld, as the door opened, a tall figure, with a dark bright face full of ineffable softness and joy.  Frank himself, safe and sound, with his two brothers behind him.  They stayed not to speak, but hastened to spread the glad tidings; while he flung himself down, including both his mother and Lenore in one rapturous embrace, and carrying his kiss from one to the other—­conscious, if no one else was, that this first seal of his love was given in his mother’s arms.

Lenore did indeed extricate herself, and stand up as rosy red as she had been pale; but she had no room for any thought beyond his mother’s trembling “Not hurt, my dear?”

“Not hurt!  Not a scratch!  Thank God!  Oh! thank God!” answered Frank, quivering all over with thankfulness, though probably far more at the present joy than the past peril.

“Yes—­oh, thanks for His mercy!” echoed Anne, giving fervent hand and tearful cheek to the eager salutation, which probably would have been as energetic to Clio or old Betty at that moment!

“But there’s blood on your wristband,” cried the mother.  “You are hurt!”

“No; it’s not mine.  I didn’t know it.  It is from the poor fellow I helped to carry into the public-house at Knoll, just this side Backsworth, a good deal hurt, I’m afraid.  Something had got on the lines, I believe.  I was half asleep, and knew nothing till I found ourselves all crushed up together in the dark, upside-down, my feet above my head.  There was but one man in my carriage, and we didn’t get foul of one another, and found we were all right, when we scrambled out of the window.  So we helped out the others, and found that, besides the engineer and stoker—­who I don’t suppose can live, poor fellows!—­there was only this man much damaged.  Then, when there seemed no more to be done, I took my bag and walked across country, to reach home before you heard.  But oh, this is worth anything!”

He had to bend down for another embrace from his mother whose heart was very full as she held his bright young healthful face between her hands, though all she said was, “You have walked eleven miles and more!  You must be half starved!—­Anne, my dear, pray let him have something.  He can eat it here.”

“I’ll see,” said Anne, hastening away.

“Oh, don’t go, Lenore,” cried Frank, springing up.  “Stay, I’ve not seen you!—­Mother, how sweet of you!  But I forgot!  You don’t know!  I was only waiting till I was through.”

“I understand, my dear boy.”

“But how?  How did you find out?  Was it only that you knew she was the precious darling of my heart? and now you see and own why,” cries Frank, almost beside himself with excitement and delight.