"Barney," she cried, lifting to her lips his letter which she had let drop before. "My—my Barney, I'm coming to you!"
The next day she started and, not visiting Chicago this time, her way lay through Minneapolis direct to the Straits, picking up the Chicago-Sault Ste. Marie line just above Escanaba and following about the northern points of Greenbay and on east into the narrowing peninsula over the same road which Barney and she had traveled upon their first morning of acquaintance.
In contrast to the coldness of that snowy day, everything was green and warm, with the sun glowing in a clear, still sky.
Ethel had had no need to change cars upon this occasion, yet she had awakened earlier than upon the morning in January; indeed, though she had gone to bed early in the hope of soon dropping asleep so that instantly the night would pass, her excitement and suspense so stimulated her that she slept but brokenly. She dressed shortly after dawn and, after breakfast, waited intolerable hours until, marvellously, the porter at last called "Quesnel," and the train shrieked and stopped.
Barney was there; he had his two hands out for her as she came down the step. He had never known why, so suddenly and so cruelly, she had fled from him; but he did not care now that she was back; besides, he saw by her great joy how cruel the past weeks had been to her. She came down, giving him both her hands; so they clung together, gazing at each other, each searching, half fearfully, for some evidence of inward change; each finding none and both trembling with happiness. Then they remembered other people.
