“Look who’s coming, you galoot!  She hasn’t heard a word either of us has said.”

And though Nellie Travers, noting the sudden silence, burst into an immediate and utterly irrelevant lament over the loss of the Maltese kitten,—­which had not been seen all that day and was not to be found when they came away,—­it was useless.  The effort was gallant, but the flame in her cheeks betrayed her as, throwing his reins to the orderly who followed him, Mr. Hayne dismounted at the platform and came directly towards her.  To Mrs. Rayner’s unspeakable dismay, he walked up to the trio, bowed low over the little gloved hand that was extended in answer to the proffer of his own, and next she saw that Royce and Foster had, as though by tacit consent, fallen back, and, coram publico, Mr. Hayne was sole claimant of the regards of her baby sister.  There was but one comfort in the situation:  the train was in sight.  Forgetful, reckless for the moment, of what was going on around her, she stood gazing at the pair.  No woman could fail to read the story; no woman could see his face, his eyes, his whole attitude and expression, and not read therein that old, old story that grows sweeter with every century of its life.  That he should be inspired with sudden, vehement love for her exquisite Nell was something she could readily understand; but what—­what meant her downcast eyes, the flutter of color on her soft and rounded cheek, the shy uplifting of the fringed lids from time to time as though in response to eager question or appeal?  Heavens! would that train never come?  The whistle was sounding in the distance, but it would take ages to drag those heavy Pullmans up the grade from the bridge where they had yet to stop.  She could almost have darted forward, seized her sister by the wrist, and whispered again the baleful reminder that of late had had no mention between them,—­“Thou art another’s;” but in her distress her weak blue eyes sought her husband’s face.  He saw it all, and shook his head.  Then there was nothing to be done.

As the train came rumbling finally into the station, she saw him once more clasp her sister’s hand; then, with one long look into the sweet face that was hidden from her jealous eyes, he raised his forage-cap and stepped quickly back to where his horse was held.  Her husband hastened to her side: 

“Kate, I must speak to him.  I don’t care how he may take it; I cannot go without it.”

They all watched the tall captain as he strode across the platform.  Every man in uniform seemed to know instinctively that Rayner at last was seeking to make open reparation for the bitter wrong he had done.  One or two strove to begin a general chat and affect an interest in something else, for Mrs. Rayner’s benefit, but she, with trembling lips, stood gazing after her husband and seemed to beg for silence.  Then all abandoned other occupation, and every man stood still and watched them.  Hayne had quickly swung into saddle, and had turned for one more look, when he saw his captain with ashen face striding towards him, and heard him call his name.