Meanwhile, elderly husbands—­the sole male inhabitants left in the gentry houses of the district—­who possessed any legal knowledge, informed their wives that no one could legally presume the death of a vanished husband, under seven years, unless indeed they happen to have a Scotch domicile, in which case two years was enough. Seven years!—­preposterous!—­in time of war, said the wives.  To which the husbands would easily reply that, in such cases as Mrs. Sarratt’s, the law indeed might be ‘an ass,’ but there were ways round it.  Mrs. Sarratt might re-marry, and no one could object, or would object.  Only—­if Sarratt did rise from the dead, the second marriage would be ipso facto null and void.  But as Sarratt was clearly dead, what did that matter?

So that the situation, though an observed one—­for how could the Farrell comings and goings, the Farrell courtesies and benefactions, possibly be hid?—­was watched only by friendly and discreet eyes, thanks always to Hester.  Most people liked William Farrell; even that stricter sect, who before the war had regarded him as a pleasure loving dilettante, and had been often scandalised by his careless levity in the matter of his duties as a landlord and county magnate.  ‘Bill Farrell’ had never indeed evicted or dealt hardly with any mortal tenant.  He had merely neglected and ignored them; had cared not a brass farthing about the rates which he or they, paid—­why should he indeed, when he was so abominably rich from other sources than land?—­nothing about improving their cows, or sheep or pigs; nothing about ‘intensive culture,’ or jam or poultry, or any of the other fads with which the persons who don’t farm plague the persons who do; while the very mention of a public meeting, or any sort of public duty, put him to instant flight.  Yet even the faddists met him with pleasure, and parted from him with regret.  He took himself ’so jolly lightly’; you couldn’t expect him to take other people seriously.  Meanwhile, his genial cheery manner made him a general favourite, and his splendid presence, combined with his possessions and his descent, was universally accepted as a kind of Cumberland asset, to which other counties could hardly lay claim.  If he wanted the little widow, why certainly, let him have her!  It was magnificent what he had done for his hospital; when nobody before the war had thought him capable of a stroke of practical work.  Real good fellow, Farrell!  Let him go in and win.  His devotion, and poor Nelly’s beauty, only infused a welcome local element of romance into the ever-darkening scene of war.

* * * * *

The first anniversary of Sarratt’s disappearance was over.  Nelly had gone through it quite alone.  Bridget was in London, and Nelly had said to Cicely—­’Don’t come for a few days—­nor Sir William—­please!  I shall be all right.’