Then suddenly the Governor-General heard the singing, and perceived the
black distant crowd. He inquired of the persons near him, and then
passed on through the groups which had begun to gather round himself,
raising his hand for silence. The passengers of the West-bound train had
by now mostly descended, and pressed after him. Bare-headed, he stood
behind the mourners while the hymn proceeded, and the coffin was lifted
and placed in the car with the wreaths round it. The mother clung a
moment to the side of the door, unconsciously resisting those who tried
to lead her away. The kind grey eyes of the Governor-General rested upon
her, but he made no effort to approach or speak to her. Only his
stillness kept the crowd still.

Elizabeth at her window watched the scene--the tall figure of his
Excellency--the bowed woman--the throng of officials and of mourners.
Over the head of the Governor-General a couple of flags swelled in a
light breeze--the Union Jack and the Maple Leaf; beyond the heads of the
crowd there was a distant glimpse of the barracks of the Mounted Police;
and then boundless prairie and floating cloud.

At last the mother yielded, and was led to the carriage behind the
coffin. Gently, with bent head, Lord Wrekin made his way to her. But no
one heard what passed between them. Then, silently, the funeral crowd
dispersed, and another crowd--of officials and business men--claimed the
Governor-General. Standing in its midst, he turned for a moment to scan
the West-bound train.

"Ah, Lady Merton!" He had perceived the car and Elizabeth's face at the
window, and he hastened across to speak to her. They were old friends in
England, and they had already met in Ottawa.