She had simply come to herself once more and would again be her old-time sister and her child.

Then, too--and this sent another wave of delight tingling through her--it had all been the doctor's doing! But for his advice she would never have let Lucy go.
Half a dozen times, although the November afternoon was raw and chilly, with the wind fresh from the sea and the sky dull, she was out on the front porch without shawl or hat, looking down the path, covered now with dead leaves, and scanning closely every team that passed the gate, only to return again to her place by the fire, more impatient than ever.
Meg's quick ear first caught the grating of the wheels.

Jane followed him with a cry of joyous expectation, and flew to the door to meet the stage, which for some reason--why, she could not tell--had stopped for a moment outside the gate, dropping only one passenger, and that one the nurse.
"And Lucy did not come, Martha!" Jane exclaimed, with almost a sob in her voice.

She had reached her side now, followed by Meg, who was springing straight at the nurse in the joy of his welcome.
The old woman glanced back at the stage, as if afraid of being overheard, and muttered under her breath: "No, she couldn't come." "Oh, I am so disappointed! Why not ?" Martha did not answer.

She seemed to have lost her breath.