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Updated: May 31, 2025
She put out her hand. He took it, resisted the inclination to press his lips to it, and held it lightly in his. "If you will give me permission to call upon you should I be in Lightfield during your stay there I shall be more than happy!" She was about to refuse, but the mute pleading of his eyes deterred her. He had been kind to her, and it could do her no harm.
I do not desire that the place of my destination shall be known to any one. But to show you how much I appreciate your kindness, and how entirely I trust you, I will inform you that I am going to Lightfield, in New Hampshire, to stop an indefinite length of time with my old nurse, Mrs. Day." Castrani was visibly affected by this proof of her confidence.
Probably, he would never come to Lightfield, so she gave him the permission he asked for. The day passed without incident, and nightfall found Margie within ten miles of her destination. She was driven along a rough country road, to a square farm-house looming up white through the dark and a moment later she was lying, pale and exhausted, in the arms of Nurse Day.
It had never been convenient to do so, but now the place was suggested to her at once, and to Lightfield she decided to go. She consulted her watch. It was five o'clock; the train for the North, the first express, left at half-past six. There would be time. She would leave all her business affairs in the hands of Mr.
Castrani remained in Boston, and saw the remains of the unfortunate Arabel Vere consigned to decent burial, and, that duty accomplished, he took the first train for Lightfield.
She had married late in life a worthy farmer, and giving up her situation in New York, had gone with him to the little-out-of-the-way village of Lightfield. Margie had kept up a sort of desultory correspondence with her, and in every letter that the old lady wrote she had urged Margie to visit her in her country home.
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