Helbeck of Bannisdale, vol 2 | Page 6

its struggle and
death, its newness and restlessness, was behind her--she was going
home, to the old house, with its austerity and peace.
Home? Bannisdale, home? How strange! But she was too tired to fight
herself to-night--she let the word pass. In her submission to it there was
a secret pleasure.
... The first train had come in by now. Eagerly, she saw Polly on the
platform--Polly looking for the pony cart. Was it old Wilson, or Mr.
Helbeck? Wilson, of course! And yet--yet--she knew that Wilson had
been away in Whinthorpe on farm business all day. And Mr. Helbeck
was careful of the old man. Ah well! there would be something--and
someone--to meet her when she arrived. Her heart knew that.
Now they were crossing the estuary. The moon was rising over the
sands, and those far hills, the hills of Bannisdale. There on the further
bank were the lights of Braeside. She had forgotten to ask whether they
changed at the junction--probably the Marsland train would be waiting.
The Greet!--its voice was in her ears, its many channels shone in the
flooding light. How near the hills seemed!--just a moonlight walk along
the sands, and one was there, under the old tower and the woods. The
sands were dangerous, people said. There were quicksands among them,
and one must know the paths. Ah! well--she smiled. Humdrum trains
and cabs were good enough for her to-night.
She hung at the open window, looking down into the silver water. How

strange, after these ghastly hours, to feel yourself floating in beauty and
peace--a tremulous peace--like this? The world going your way--the
soul yielding itself to fate--taking no more painful thought for the
morrow----
* * * * *
"Braeside! All change!"
Laura sprang from the carriage. The station clock opposite told her to
her dismay that it was nearly half-past eleven.
"Where's the Marsland train?" she said to the porter who had come
forward to help her. "And how dreadfully late we are!"
"Marsland train, Miss! Last one left an hour ago--no other till 6.12
to-morrow morning."
"What do you mean? Oh! you didn't hear!--it's the train for Marsland I
want."
"Afraid you won't get it then, Miss, till to-morrow. Didn't they warn
you at Froswick? They'd ought to. This train only makes the main-line
connection--for Crewe and Rugby--no connection Whinthorpe way
after 8.20."
Laura's limbs seemed to waver beneath her. A step on the platform. She
turned and saw Hubert Mason.
"You!"
Mason thought she would faint. He caught her arm to support her. The
porter looked at them curiously, then moved away, smiling to himself.
Laura tottered to the railing at the back of the platform and supported
herself against it.
"What are you here for?" she said to him in a voice--a voice of
hatred--a voice that stung.
He glanced down upon her, pulling his fair moustache. His handsome
face was deeply flushed.
"I only heard there was no train on, from the guard, just as you were
starting; so I jumped into the next carriage that I might be of some use
to you here if I could. You needn't look at me like that," he broke out
violently--"I couldn't help it!"
"You might have found out," she said hoarsely.
"Say you believe I did it on purpose!--to get you into trouble!--you may
as well. You'd believe anything bad about me, I know."
Already there was a new note in his voice, a hoarse, tyrannous note, as

though he felt her in his power. In her terror the girl recalled that wild
drive from the Browhead dance, with its disgusts and miseries. Was he
sober now? What was she to do?--how was she to protect herself? She
felt a passionate conviction that she was trapped, that he had planned
the whole catastrophe, knowing well what would be thought of her at
Bannisdale--in the neighbourhood.
She looked round her, making a desperate effort to keep down
exhaustion and excitement. The main-line train had just gone, and the
station-master, with a lantern in his hand, was coming up the platform.
Laura went to meet him.
"I've made a mistake and missed the last train to Marsland. Can I sit
here in the station till the morning?"
The station-master looked at her sharply--then at the man standing a
yard or two behind her. The young lady had to his eye a wild,
dishevelled appearance. Her fair hair had escaped its bonds in all
directions, and was hanging loose upon her neck behind. Her hat had
been crumpled and bent by the child's embracing arms; the little muslin
dress showed great smears of coal-dust here and there, and the light
gloves were black.
"No, Miss," he said, with rough decision. "You can't sit in the station.
There'll be one more train down