er, of course. But Nelly had better go at once, as Dr. Howson
advises. I'll go and see to things.'

She turned slowly away. Nelly ran forward and caught her.

'Oh, Bridget--don't go--you mustn't go! What news is it? Bridget, tell
me!--you couldn't--you _couldn't_ be so cruel--not to tell me--if you
knew anything about George!'

Bridget stood silent.

'Oh, what can I do--what can I do?' cried Nelly.

Then her eyes fell on the letters still in her hand. She tore one
open--and read it--with mingled cries of anguish and joy. Farrell dared
not go near her. There seemed already a gulf between her and him.

'It's from Miss Eustace'--she said, panting, as she looked up at last,
and handed the letter to him--it's George--he's alive--they've heard
from France--he asks for me--but--but--he's dying.'

Her head dropped forward a little. She caught at the back of a chair,
nearly fainting. But when Farrell approached her, she put up a hand in
protest.

'No, no,--I'm all right. But, Bridget, Miss Eustace says--you've
actually _seen_ him--you've been to France. When did you go?'

'About three weeks ago,' said Bridget, after a moment's pause. 'Oh, of
course I know'--she threw back her head defiantly--'you'll all set on
me--you'll all blame me. But I suppose I may be mistaken like anybody
else--mayn't I? I didn't think the man I saw was George--I didn't! And
what was the good of disturbing your mind?'

But as she told the lie, she told it so lamely and unconvincingly that
neither of the other two believed it for a moment. Nelly stood
up--tottering--but mistress of herself. She looked at Farrell.

'Sir William--can you take me to Windermere, for the night-train? I know
when it goes--10.20. I'll be ready--by nine.' She glanced at the clock,
which was just nearing seven.

'Of course,' said Farrell, taking up his hat. 'I'll go and see to the
motor. But'--he looked at her with entreaty--'you can't go this long
journey alone!'

The words implied a bitter consciousness that his own escort was
impossible. Nelly did not notice it. She only said impatiently--

'But, of course, I must go alone.'

She stood silent--mastering the agony within--forcing herself to think
and will. When the pause was over, she said quietly--'I will be quite
ready at nine.' And then mechanically--'It's very good of you.'

He went away, passing Bridget, who stood with one foot on the fender,
staring down into the fire.

When the outer door had closed up