’The wind on Dunmail Raise was appalling, and the lamps got so be-snowed, we had to be constantly clearing them.  But directly we got down into the valley it mended, and I managed to stop at the post-office, and ask if there were any letters for you.  There were two—­and a telegram.  What have I done with them?’ He began to search in his pockets, his wits meanwhile in such a whirl that it was difficult for him to realise what he was doing.

At that point Bridget opened the door.  He turned to shake hands with her, and then resumed his fumbling.

’I’m sure they did give them to me’—­he said, in some concern,—­’two letters and a telegram.’

‘A telegram!’ said Bridget, suddenly, hurrying forward,—­’it must be for me.’

She peremptorily held out her hand, and as she did so, Nelly caught sight of her sister.  Startled out of all other thoughts she too made a step forward.  What was wrong with Bridget?  The tall, gaunt woman stood there livid, her eyes staring at Farrell, her hand unsteady as she thrust it towards him.

‘Give me the telegram, please!  I was expecting one,’ she said, trying to speak as usual.

Farrell turned to her in surprise.

’But it wasn’t for you, Miss Cookson.  It was for Mrs. Sarratt.  I saw the address quite plainly.  Ah, here they are.  How stupid of me!  What on earth made me put them in that pocket.’

He drew out the letters and the telegram.  Bridget said again—­’Give it me, please!  I know it’s for me!’ And she tried to snatch it.  Farrell’s face changed.  He disliked Bridget Cookson heartily, mainly on Nelly’s account, and her rude persistence nettled a temper accustomed to command.  He quietly put her aside.

’When your sister has read it, Miss Cookson, she will no doubt let you see it.  As it happens, the post-mistress made me promise to give it to Mrs. Sarratt myself.  She seemed interested—­I don’t know why.’

Nelly took it.  Farrell—­who began to have some strange misgiving—­stood between her and Bridget.  Bridget made no further movement.  Her eyes were fixed on Nelly.

Nelly, bewildered by the little scene and by Bridget’s extraordinary behaviour, tore open the brown envelope, and read slowly—­’Please come at once.  Have some news for you.  Your sister will explain.  Howson, Base Headquarters, X------, France.’

‘Howson?’ said Nelly.  Then the colour began to ebb from her face.  ’Dr. Howson?’ she repeated.  ’What news?  What does he mean? Oh!’—­the cry rang through the room—­’it’s George!—­it’s George! he’s found!—­he’s found!’

She thrust the telegram piteously into Farrell’s hands.  He read it, and turned to Bridget.

’What does Dr. Howson mean, Miss Cookson, and why does he refer Mrs. Sarratt to you?’

For some seconds she could not make her pale lips reply.  Finally, she said—­’That’s entirely my own affair, Sir William.  I shall tell my sister, of course.  But Nelly had better go at once, as Dr. Howson advises.  I’ll go and see to things.’