Make my excuses," he said.

"Good-bye!" The horses sprang sharply forward.

He was gone.
The roll of the wheels and the rhythmic hoof-beats rapidly lessened to the ear as Franklin drove on into the blackening night.

In her own little room Mary Ellen sat, her face where it might have been seen in profile had there been a light or had the distant driver looked round to see.

Mary Ellen listened--listened until she could hear hoof and wheel no more.