and post the letter herself.

And then, as she came downstairs, she heard the gate of the Trellis
House open and swing to. Rose coming back, no doubt. But no, it was not
Rose, for instead of the handle of the door turning, there was a ring
and a knock.

It was a ring and a knock which sounded pleasantly familiar. Mrs. Otway
smiled as she turned into her sitting-room. It was the first time she
had smiled that day.

Major Guthrie at last! It was half-past eleven now; they could have a
good long, comfortable talk, and perhaps he would stop to lunch. Of
course she would have to eat humble pie about the war, but he was the
last man to say "I told you so!"

There were so many things she wanted to know, which now she could ask
him, secure of a sensible, true answer. Major Guthrie, whatever his
prejudices, was a professional soldier. He really did know something of
military matters. He was not like the people who lived in the Close, and
who were already talking such nonsense about the war. Mrs. Otway was too
intelligent not to realise the fact that they, whatever their boasts,
knew nothing which could throw real light on the great adventure which
was beginning, only beginning, to fill all her thoughts.

Suddenly the door opened, and Anna announced, in a grumpy tone, "Major
Guthrie."

"I thought I was never going to see you again!"

There was an eagerness, a warmth of welcome in Mrs. Otway's manner of
which she was unconscious, but which gave a sudden shock of pleasure,
aye, and perhaps even more than pleasure, to her visitor. He had
expected to find her anxious, depressed, troubled--above all, deeply
saddened by the dreadful thing having come to pass which she had so
often vehemently declared would never, never happen.

They shook hands, but before she could go on to utter one of the many
questions which were on her lips, Major Guthrie spoke. "I've come to say
good-bye," he said abruptly. "I've had my marching orders!" There was a
strange light in the dark blue eyes which were the one beautiful feature
he had acquired from his very handsome mother.

"I--I don't understand----" And she really didn't.

What could he mean? His marching orders? But he had left the Army four
or five years ago. Besides, the Dean had told her only that morning that
no portion of the British Army was going to the Continent--that on
England's part this was only going to be a naval war. The Dean had heard
this fact from a friend in London,