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[Illustration: “One silent, prolonged clasp of her daughter’s little figure, one light kiss on the pretty lips.” (See page 13)]
Author of “Jessica Trent,” “Jessica the Heiress,” “Breakneck Farm,” etc.
Philadelphia David McKay, Publisher 610 South Washington Square
“O mother! How can I bear it? How can I go?” cried Jessica Trent, clinging fast to the slender, black-robed figure standing a little apart on the platform of the railway station.
“Bravely and hopefully, my darling, as befits the daughter of Cassius Trent. Eagerly, I trust, as one who goes to finish his life work;” answered the almost heart-broken mother, the joy of whose existence would vanish with that outgoing eastern train.
“But I may come home again next year, mother dearest? Say I may come then!” pleaded the girl.
“If it seems best,” answered Gabriella Trent, tenderly stroking the fair cheek which seemed to have grown thinner and whiter during these last days before this parting.
“Next year? Why, my suz! You won’t much more than get there by that time, child alive. Three thousand miles is pretty consid’able of a step, seems if,” commented a voice which tried to be as cheerful as it was loud. But the words ended with a sob; that “three thousand miles,” which her own fancy had pictured quite breaking down the composure of Aunt Sally Benton, who had come with the rest of the Sobrante party to see Jessica Trent off for the Atlantic coast.
“Blow my stripes! If I ever knew there were so many folks all agog for travelin’! Uneasiest crowd ’t ever I see an’ noisiest. Well, captain, I hope they’ll get talked out ’fore sleeping time comes. If a body can sleep aboard a train of cars. Give me a good ship now--then you sing! Here, you fool! What you jostlin’ into me for? Think this whole platform belongs to you, just because you’re one the know-nothin’ towerists?” cried Samson, the mighty herder and one-time sailor, as an anxious “tourist” bumped an armful of luggage against him.