It took until well in the evening to get the pathetic exiles into the trains.  Lydia did not stay after dark.  Profoundly depressed, she made Billy take her home.

In the evening she sat with her Emerson open before her, but with her unseeing eyes fastened on the open door.  It was a little after nine when the chug-chug of Kent’s car stopped at the gate and in a moment Kent, white faced, appeared in the door.

“John Levine’s been shot.  He wants Lydia!”

Without a sound Lydia started after Kent down the path, Amos following.  Kent packed them into the little car and started back toward town at breakneck speed.

“How bad off is he?” asked Amos.

“Can’t live,” answered Kent.

Still Lydia made no sound though Amos held her firmly in the vain attempt to still her trembling.

“How’d it happen?” Amos’ voice broke a little.

“That damned sister of Charlie Jackson and old Susie both took a shot at him, just as the last car-load was finished.  The police and the militia got ’em right off.  Shot ’em all to pieces.  It looked as though there’d be a wholesale fight for a minute but the militia closed in and the last train got off.”

“Where is John?” asked Amos.

“In Doc Fulton’s office.  They can’t move him.”

No one spoke again.  Kent brought the automobile up with a bang before the doctor’s house and Lydia, followed closely by the two men, ran up to the door, through the outer office to the inner, where a nurse and Doc Fulton stood beside a cot.

Levine lay with his face turned toward the door.  When he saw Lydia he smiled faintly.  She was quite calm, except for her trembling.  She walked quickly to his side and took his hand.

“Looks like I was going to start traveling alone, young Lydia,” he said feebly.  “I just wanted to tell you—­that Great Search—­is ending all right—­don’t worry—­”

“I won’t,” said Lydia.

“Only I hate to go alone—­my mother—­gimme something, Doc.”

The doctor held a glass to his lips.  After a moment, Levine said again, “My mother used to hold me—­” his voice trailed off and Lydia said suddenly, “You mean you want me to comfort you like I used to comfort little Patience?”

“Yes!  Yes!” whispered Levine.  “It’s going to sleep alone I——­ Mother—­”

Lydia knelt and sliding her arm under Levine’s neck, she pulled his head over gently to rest on her shoulder.  Then she began with infinite softness the little songs she had not uttered for so many years.

  “’Wreathe me no gaudy chaplet;
  Make it from simple flowers
  Plucked from the lowly valleys
  After the summer showers.’”

  “‘Sweet and low, sweet and low, wind of the western sea . . .’”

  “’I’ve reached the land of corn and wine
  And all its riches surely mine. 
  I’ve reached that heavenly, shining shore
  My heaven, my home, for evermore.’”