Elizabeth looked towards the entrance of the station.  A tall and slender man had just stepped on to the platform.  It was the Governor-General, with a small staff behind him.  The staff and the station officials stood hat in hand.  A few English tourists from the West-bound train hurried up; the men uncovered, the ladies curtsied.  A group of settlers’ wives newly arrived from Minnesota, who were standing near the entrance, watched the arrival with curiosity.  Lord Wrekin, seeing women in his path, saluted them; and they replied with a friendly and democratic nod.  Then suddenly the Governor-General heard the singing, and perceived the black distant crowd.  He inquired of the persons near him, and then passed on through the groups which had begun to gather round himself, raising his hand for silence.  The passengers of the West-bound train had by now mostly descended, and pressed after him.  Bare-headed, he stood behind the mourners while the hymn proceeded, and the coffin was lifted and placed in the car with the wreaths round it.  The mother clung a moment to the side of the door, unconsciously resisting those who tried to lead her away.  The kind grey eyes of the Governor-General rested upon her, but he made no effort to approach or speak to her.  Only his stillness kept the crowd still.

Elizabeth at her window watched the scene—­the tall figure of his Excellency—­the bowed woman—­the throng of officials and of mourners.  Over the head of the Governor-General a couple of flags swelled in a light breeze—­the Union Jack and the Maple Leaf; beyond the heads of the crowd there was a distant glimpse of the barracks of the Mounted Police; and then boundless prairie and floating cloud.

At last the mother yielded, and was led to the carriage behind the coffin.  Gently, with bent head, Lord Wrekin made his way to her.  But no one heard what passed between them.  Then, silently, the funeral crowd dispersed, and another crowd—­of officials and business men—­claimed the Governor-General.  Standing in its midst, he turned for a moment to scan the West-bound train.

“Ah, Lady Merton!” He had perceived the car and Elizabeth’s face at the window, and he hastened across to speak to her.  They were old friends in England, and they had already met in Ottawa.

“So I find you on your travels!  Well?”

His look, gay and vivacious as a boy’s, interrogated hers.  Elizabeth stammered a few words in praise of Canada.  But her eyes were still wet, and the Governor-General perceived it.

“That was touching?” he said.  “To die in your teens in this country!—­just as the curtain is up and the play begins—­hard!  Hullo, Anderson!”

The great man extended a cordial hand, chaffed Philip a little, gave Lady Merton some hurried but very precise directions as to what she was to see—­and whom—­at Vancouver and Pretoria.  “You must see So-and-so and So-and-so—­great friends of mine.  D——­’ll tell you all about the lumbering.  Get somebody to show you the Chinese quarter.  And there’s a splendid old fellow—­a C.P.R. man—­did some of the prospecting for the railway up North, toward the Yellowhead.  Never heard such tales; I could have sat up all night.”  He hastily scribbled a name on a card and gave it to Elizabeth.  “Good-bye—­good-bye!”