At the next stage, at Hartford, I was half afraid that I should meet
brother or sister or some member of the family, and so have the complete
effect of my "surprise" destroyed; but I saw none of them. There were few
passengers on board the Newtown-bound train. It was raining still. I was
growing more and more glad at heart, and looking out with my arm pressed
against the window, when I heard a voice right over me--a soft, pitiful,
thrilling exclamation:--
"Great Heavens!"
I looked up and saw John Cable.
He sank slowly down into the seat in front of me and, for a moment,
neither of us spoke. I did not mind meeting John. I had not thought of
including him in the surprise. The sight of his familiar, friendly face
gave me a positive thrill of pleasure, but there was something in his
manner that kept me silent.
I said: "I am going to surprise them, John."
There was nothing offensive in the grave, swift glance with which John
Cable then took me in, me and my bouquet of wilted wild-flowers and my
small cedar trees, only a slow, solemn distinctness in his tone.
"You will succeed," he said. "Undoubtedly you will succeed."
Still I felt no resentment.
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