The familiar melancholy crowd waited on every platform.
Old women weeping openly and men with faces ridiculously screwed and puckered in the effort to restrain the rising tears clung to their sons and daughters.

Pitiful little boxes and carpet bags were piled on the platform.

Friends clung to hands outstretched through the carriage-windows while the train moved slowly out.

Then came the long mournful wail from those left behind, and the last wavings of farewell.
At the Robeen station the crowd was no less than elsewhere.

The carriages set apart for the emigrants were full, and at the last minute two girls were hustled into the compartment where Hyacinth sat.