broke the stream of the good woman's confidence.

"It will do very well later," she said, "when your daughter is better.
She can send it when she comes down. I am sorry she is ill, but don't
disturb her for me. I will just write out the words more clearly, as I
understand there has been a doubt about the spelling."

She printed the words plainly on a fresh form and handed it to the old
woman, who counted them slowly and laboriously with the stump of a
pencil. "Eighteen words," she said. "That'll be a matter o'
ninepence, I reckon."

"Oh no," corrected Philippa. "It is to St. Petersburg, in Russia. It
will cost much more than that."

"Wouldn't that be a British Possession now?" was the doubtful reply.
And Philippa, chafing at the delay, could only smile at the question,
and answer regretfully that she was afraid it wasn't.

The woman stretched out her hand for the Postal Guide, but the print
was small, and necessitated the careful adjustment of a pair of
spectacles before it could be deciphered, and finally the girl found
the place herself, reckoned the amount and put down the money.

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, miss," said the old dame with a
curtsy. "'Tis kind of you to say that can stand over till Maggie's
better. She just dropped off for a bit of sleep, and thought as how
she would be safe like, seein' that we don't get no mor'n four or five
of them things in a week these days--not but what there's more when the
Major's at home; and Mr. Taylor, up to Chancey Hall, he's a wonderful
one for them, but he's not at home now--gone for to find lions and
tigers in some heathen country, so they tell me. Not but what Maggie
she'd 'a' come down if you'd wished, miss. It don' do for to leave the
machine by rights. That's against rules, that is; but what's a body to
do when she comes over that queer with shootin' pains, an' her head
a-whizzin' like Farmer Brown's threshin' engine. I thank you kindly,
miss, and good-day to you."

Philippa hurried out. She had wasted more than ten minutes over the
affair, and Francis would be weary of waiting.

"I am so sorry," she cried penitently, "I have been so long, but----"

As she was in the act of urging the pony to proceed he put out his hand
and stopped her.

"Turn round," he said. "We will go home now."

She looked at him and saw that his face was white and his mouth drawn
and hard.

"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Do you feel ill?"