At that moment a face appeared at the top of the stairs, a face set
in the rich golden auburn that all knew so well, and half way up,
Mrs. Brownlow was clasped by a pair of arms, and there was a cry,
"Mother Carey, Mother Carey, I'm come home!"
"Elvira! my dear child! When-—how did you come?"
"From the station, in a cab. I made her let me in, but I thought you
were never coming back. Where's Allen?"
"Allen will come in by-and-by," said the astonished Mother Carey, who
had been dragged into the drawing-room, where Elvira embraced Babie,
and grasped the hands of the others.
"Oh, it is so nice," she cried, then nestling back to Mother Carey.
"But where did you come from? Are you alone?"
"Yes, quite alone, Janet would not come with me after all."
"Janet, my dear! Where is she?"
"Oh, not here-—at Saratoga, or at New York. I thought she was coming
with me, but when the steamer sailed she was not there, only there
was a note pinned to my berth. I meant to have brought it, but it
got lost somehow."
"Where did you see her?"
"At the photographer's at Saratoga. I should never have come if she
had not helped me, but she said she knew you would take me home, and
she wrote and took my passage and all. She said if I did not find
you, Mr.
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