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 upon him, Nelly looked at her sister.  She was trembling all over.

‘Bridget—­why did you do it?’ The voice was low and full of horror.

‘What do you mean?  I made a mistake—­that’s all!’

’Bridget—­you knew it was George!  You couldn’t be mistaken.  Miss Eustace says—­in the letter’—­she pointed to it—­’they asked you about his hands.  Do you remember how you used to mock at them?’

‘As if one could remember after a year and a half!’