"Jasper!" said Hilda, in a choked sort of voice. "Jasper!"

"What is it, my darling? Why, how queer you look, your face is quite
white!"

"It is about Judy; she's not well!" said Hilda. "I ought to go to her, I
ought not to delay. Couldn't we catch the night mail?"

"Good gracious!" said Quentyns, alarmed by Hilda's manner. "What is
wrong with the child? If it is anything infectious----"

"No, no, it is nothing of that sort; but in any case, whatever it is, I
ought to go to her--I ought not to delay. May I telegraph to say we are
starting at once?"

"My darling, how excitable you are! What can be wrong with the child?"

"Oh, Jasper, you don't understand--Aunt Marjorie says----Here, read
this bit."

"I can't read that crabbed, crossed writing, Hilda."

"Well, I'll read it aloud to you; see where it begins--'Judy has not
been well----'"

Hilda read the whole passage, a lump in her throat almost choking her
voice. When she had finished, Quentyns put his arms round her and drew
her to his heart.

"Why, you poor little, foolish, nervous creature," he said, "there's
nothing wrong with Judy now; she was ill, but she's much better. My
darling Hilda--my love, you must really not disturb yourself about a
trifling mishap of this sort."

"It isn't a trifle, Jasper. Oh, I know Judy--I know how she looks and
what she feels. Oh, do, do let me go back to her, darling."

"You read that letter in such a perturbed sort of voice that I can
scarcely follow its meanings," said Quentyns. "Here, give it to me, and
let me see for myself what it is all about. Why will old ladies write
such villainous hands? Where does the passage begin, Hilda? Sit down,
darling, quiet yourself. Now let me see, here it is--'Judy has not been
well----'"

Hilda's hands had shaken with nervousness while she read her aunt's
letter aloud, but Quentyns held the sheet of thin paper steadily. As the
sentences fell from his lips, his full tones seemed to put new meaning
into them--the ghostly terrors died out of Hilda's heart. When her
husband laid down the sheet of paper, and turned to her with a
triumphant smile, she could not help smiling back at him in return.

"There," he said, "did not I tell you there was nothing wrong with Judy
now? What a little goose you are!"

"I suppose I am; and if you really, really think--if you are quite sure
that she's all right----"

"Of course, I am absolutely certain; doesn't Aunt Marjorie say so? The
fact is,