begging him to forward any answer to Ursula G.

Another advertisement was of a different character:

'For Gladys's sake, please write to me, or give me a chance of speaking
to you. An unknown but most sincere friend, U. G.'

The third advertisement was still more pressing:

'Jack Poynter's friends believe him dead, and are in great trouble: he
is entreated to undeceive them. One word to the old address will be a
comfort to his poor sister.'

As soon as I had despatched these advertisements to the paper offices, I
sat down and wrote to Gladys. It was not my intention to tell her about
Eric, but I must say some word to her that would induce her to come home.
I told her that I was going back to Heathfield the following afternoon,
and that I was beginning to feel impatient for her return.

'I cannot do without you any longer, my dear Gladys,' I wrote. 'There is
so much that I want to talk to you about, and that I cannot write. I have
heard something that has greatly excited me, and that makes me think that
your view of the case is right, and that your brother Eric is alive. Of
course we must not be too sanguine, but I begin to have hopes that you
may see him again.'

More than this I did not venture to say, but I knew that these few words
would make Gladys set her face homeward: she would not rest until she
asked me my meaning. As I gave Clayton the letter I felt convinced that
before a week was over Gladys would find her way to Heathfield.

I had to give all my attention to Jill after this; but, though she hung
about me in her old affectionate way, I felt that I should leave her far
happier than she had ever been before, and she did not deny this, only
begged me to come and see them sometimes.

'You know I can't do without you, you darling bear,' she finished, with
one of her old hugs.

I was still more touched by Aunt Philippa's regret at parting with me;
she said so many kind things; and, to my surprise, Uncle Brian relaxed
from his usual coldness, and quite warmed into demonstration.

'Come to us as often as you can, Ursula,' he said. 'Your aunt and I
will be only too pleased to see you.' And then he asked me, a little
anxiously, if I found my small income sufficient for my needs.

I assured him that my wants were so few, and Mrs. Barton was so
economical, that but for my poorer neighbours I could hardly use it all.

'Well, well,' he returned, putting a handsome cheque in my hands, 'you
can always draw on