How small the platform seemed, with its diminutive waiting rooms and insignificant wooden ticket office, yet when she had once stood in this same station to take the train for Darroch she had, in the agitation of her adventure, trembled at its very magnitude; and, indeed, she trembled now as she realised that she must leave the solitary seclusion of her compartment and venture forth into the public gaze. She stood up firmly, gripping her portmanteau, and although a faint colour tinged her cheeks, she set her soft lips into the mould of fortitude and stepped bravely out upon the platform. She was back again in Levenford after four years!
To the porter who approached, she surrendered her bag with instructions that it should be delivered to her at the next round of the station van and, having given up her ticket, she descended the short flight of steps to the street and set out with a throbbing bosom for her home. If she had been beset by memories in the train, now they rushed in upon her with an overpowering force, and it seemed to her as if each step she took brought before her some fresh remembrance to further strain her already bursting heart. There was the Common, fringed in the distance by the Leven; here was the school she had attended as a child; and, as she passed the portals of the Public Library, still guarded by the same swing doors, she became aware that it was here, on this very spot, that she had first met Denis. The thought of Denis brought no pang, no bitterness, but now merely a sad regret, as though she felt herself no longer his beloved nor yet the victim of his love, but only the helpless puppet of an irresistible destiny.
While she proceeded along Railway Road she observed coming towards her a woman whom she had known in the days before her banishment and she settled herself for the wound of a sharp, contemptuous glance; but no glance came, no sharp wound, for the other drew near and passed her with the placid countenance of complete unrecognition. How much I must have changed, thought Mary sadly, as she entered Wellhall Road and, coming upon Doctor Renwick's house, she wondered with a curious detachment if he too might find her changed, should she ever encounter him. He had been so good to her, that even to pass this dwelling moved her strangely. While she did not consider the fact that he had saved her life, as though this were of slight importance, she remembered vividly the letters he had written her first when she had gone to London and later to inform her of her mother's illness and subsequently of her death all filled with a kind and unmistakable sympathy. She might never have returned to Levenford but for these letters, for, had she not received the second, she would not have written home and Nessie would never have known her address to send her that frantic appeal. Poor, frightened Nessie! Thoughts of her sister and of her father now invaded her, and as she drew near to her home, with the memory of the night on which she had left it stamped like an indelible background upon her mind, she became outwardly agitated; the calm, long-set tranquillity of her appearance was at last melted by the warm, surging currents set racing by the unwonted action of her fast beating heart.
Again she felt herself tremble at the prospect of meeting her father; she shuddered slightly as, of her own volition, she moved towards the oppressive influence of the dwelling which had once contained her like a prisoner.
When, finally, she reached her home, it was with a shock that she observed the outer aspect of the house, wondering, in her first bewilderment, if it were she who viewed it with different eyes, but in a moment noting more intently the subtle, individual alterations which gave it an appearance at once slovenly and sordid. The windows were dirty, with such curtains as veiled them soiled and draggled, with blinds hanging unevenly; in the turret one small window was open and uncovered, the other completely shuttered, like a closed eye, so that the face of the tower winked at her with a fixed, perpetual leer. The clean, grey stone of the frontage was stained by a long, irregular, rusty smear, drawn by the rush of water from a broken gutter, and straggling across the house face like a defilement; the gutter sagged, a slate drooped drunkenly from the straight line of the eaves, whilst the courtyard in front was empty, unraked, and green with weeds.
Startled by these slight but revealing variations which so transfigured the exterior of the house, and stirred with a sudden fear of what she might discover within, Mary moved quickly up the steps and rang the bell. Her trepidation increased as she stood for a long time waiting, but at last the door opened slowly and she beheld, against the dimness beyond, the thin, unformed figure of Nessie. The sisters looked at each other, exclaimed together "Nessie!" "Mary!" then, with a mingling cry, rushed into each other's arms.
"Mary! Oh, Mary!" Nessie cried brokenly, unable in her emotion to do more than repeat the name and clinging to her sister in utter abandon. "My own, dear Mary!"
"Nessie! Dear Nessie!" whispered Mary, herself overcome by an excess feeling. "I'm so happy to see you again. I've often longed for this when I've been away."
"You'll never leave me any more, will you, Mary?" sobbed Nessie. "I've wanted you so much! Hold me tight and never let me go."
"I'll never leave you, dearie! I've come back just to be with you!"
"I know! I know!" wept Nessie. "It's good of you to do it, but, oh! I've needed you sorely since Mamma died. I've had nobody! I've been frightened!"
"Don't cry, dearest," whispered Mary, drawing her sister's head against her breast and gently stroking her brow. "You're all right, now. Don't be frightened any more."
"You don't know what I've come through," cried Nessie frantically. "It's like Heaven to see you back; but it's a wonder I'm here at all."
"Hush, dearie, hush I don't want you to upset yourself and be ending up with a sore, wee head."
"It's my heart that's been sore," said the younger sister, turning up her red-lidded, burning eyes. "I didn't love you enough when I had you, Mary, but I'll make up for it. Everything's so different now. I need you so much I'll do anything, if you'll just bide with me."
"I'll do that, dear," replied Mary consolingly. "Just dry your eyes and you can tell me all about it. Here's my handkerchief for you!"
"It's just like old times for you to give me this," sniffed Nessie, releasing her sister's arm, taking the proffered handkerchief, and applying it to her wet face. "I was aye losing mine." Then, as her sobs subsided and she regarded her sister from a slight distance, she exclaimed suddenly, "How bonnie you've got, Mary! There's a look about your face that makes me want never to take my eyes off you."
"It's just the same old face, Nessie."
"No! You were always bonnie, but now there's something seems to shine out of it like a light."
"Never mind about me," replied Mary tenderly. "It's you I'm thinking of, dear. We'll need to see about putting some flesh on these thin arms of yours. You've been needing some one to look after you."
"I have, indeed," answered Nessie pathetically, looking down at her own unsubstantial form. "I can't eat anything. We've had such bad food lately. It was all because of that that " She threatened to break down again.
"Hush, pettie, hush don't cry again," whispered Mary. "Tell me some other time."
"I can't wait to tell you," cried Nessie hysterically, her words coming in a rush. "My letter told you nothing. We've had a terrible woman in the house and she's run away with Matt to America. Father was nearly out of his head and he -does nothing but drink from mornin' till night, and oh! Mary! He's driving me on to study so much that it's just killing me. Don't let him do it, Mary will you? You'll save me, won't you, Mary?" and she held her hands out beseechingly towards her sister.
Mary stood quite still; the torrent of the other's speech had overwhelmed her. Then she said slowly, "Is Father changed, Nessie? Is he not good to you now?"
"Changed!" whimpered Nessie. "He's so changed you wouldn't know him. It frightens me to see him sometimes. When he's not had whiskey he's like a man walkin' in a dream. You wouldn't believe the change in everything" she continued with a rising voice and, seizing her sister's arm, she began to draw her towards the kitchen "you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it. Look here! Come and see the sight of this room," and she flung open the door widely as though to demonstrate visibly the extent of the alteration in the circumstances of her life.