He put it up with a steady hand, and addressed it first to Nelly, enclosing it in a larger envelope addressed to his oldest friend, a school-fellow, who had been his best man at their marriage.  Then he stole downstairs, unlocked the front door, and crossing the road in the moonlight, he put the letter into the wall post-box on the further side.  And before re-entering the house, he stood a minute or two in the road, letting the fresh wind from the fells beat upon his face, and trying the while to stamp on memory the little white house where Nelly lay, the trees overhanging it, the mountain tops beyond the garden wall.

CHAPTER V

‘Is Mrs. Sarratt in?’ asked Miss Martin of Mrs. Weston’s little maid, Milly.

Milly wore a look of animation, as of one who has been finding the world interesting.

‘She’s gone a walk—­over the bridge, Miss.’

‘Has she had news of Mr. Sarratt?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ said the girl eagerly.  ’He’s all right.  Mrs. Sarratt got a telegram just a couple of hours ago.’

‘And you think I shall find her by the lake?’

Milly thought so.  Then advancing a step, she said confidentially—­

’She’s been dreadfully upset this two days, Miss.  Not that she’d say
anything.  But she’s looked------’

‘I know.  I saw her yesterday.’

’And it’s been a job to get her to eat anything.  Mrs. Weston’s been after her with lots of things—­tasty you know, Miss—­to try and tempt her.  But she wouldn’t hardly look at them.’

’Thank you, Milly’—­said Miss Martin, after a pause.  ’Well, I’ll find her.  Is Miss Cookson here?’

Milly’s candid countenance changed at once.  She frowned—­it might have been said she scowled.

’She came the day Mr. Sarratt went away, Miss.  Well of course it’s not my place to speak, Miss—­but she don’t do Mrs. Sarratt no good!’ Miss Martin couldn’t help a smile—­but she shook her head reprovingly all the same, as she hastened away.  Milly had been in her Sunday-school class, and they were excellent friends.

Across the Rotha, she pursued a little footpath leading to the lakeside.  It was a cold day, with flying clouds and gleams on hill and water.  The bosom of Silver How held depths of purple shadow, but there were lights like elves at play, chasing each other along the Easedale fells, and the stony side of Nab Scar.

Beside the water, on a rock, sat Nelly Sarratt.  An open telegram and a bundle of letters lay on her lap, her hands loosely folded over them.  She was staring at the water and the hills, with absent eyes, and her small face wore an expression—­relaxed and sweet—­like that of a comforted child, which touched Miss Martin profoundly.

‘So you’ve heard?—­you poor thing!’ said the elder woman smiling, as she laid a friendly hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Nelly looked up—­and drew a long deep breath.