He laughed—­uncertainly.

‘Don’t you believe me when I say I want to do some work?’

‘Not much.  So I have offended you?’

His look changed, became grave—­touched with compunction.

’Miss Farrell, I oughtn’t to have been talking like this.  You and Willy have been awfully good to me.’

‘And then you call me “Miss Farrell"!’ she cried, passionately—­’when you know very well that you’ve called me Cicely for years.’

‘Hush!’ said Marsworth suddenly, ‘what was that?’

He turned back towards Rydal.  On the shore path, midway between them and the little bay at the eastern end of the lake, where Farrell and Nelly Sarratt had been sitting, were Hester Martin and Bridget.  They too had turned round, arrested in their walk.  Beyond them, at the edge of the water, Farrell could be seen beckoning.  And a little way behind him on the slope stood a boy with a bicycle.

‘He is calling us,’ said Marsworth, and began to run.

Hester Martin was already running—­Bridget too.

But Hester and Marsworth outstripped the rest.  Farrell came to meet them.

‘Hester, for God’s sake, get her sister!’

‘What is it?’ gasped Hester.  ‘Is he killed?’

‘No—­“Wounded and missing!” Poor, poor child!’

‘Where is she?’

’She’s sitting there—­dazed—­with the telegram.  She’s hardly said anything since it came.’

Hester ran on.  There on a green edge of the bank sat Nelly staring at a fluttering piece of paper.

Hester sank beside her, and put her arms round her.

‘Dear Mrs. Sarratt!’

‘What does it mean?’ said Nelly turning her white face.  ‘Read it.’

’"Deeply regret to inform you your husband reported wounded and missing!"’

’Missing? That means—­a prisoner.  George is a prisoner—­and wounded!  Can’t I go to him?’

She looked piteously at Hester.  Bridget had come up and was standing near.

’If he’s a prisoner, he’s in a German hospital.  Dear Mrs. Sarratt, you’ll soon hear of him!’

Nelly stood up.  Her young beauty of an hour before seemed to have dropped from her like the petals of a rose.  She put her hand to her forehead.

’But I shan’t see him—­again’—­she said slowly—­’till the end of the war—­the end of the war’—­she repeated, pressing her hands on her eyes.  The note of utter desolation brought the tears to Hester’s cheeks.  But before she could say anything, Nelly had turned sharply to her sister.

‘Bridget, I must go up to-night!’

‘Must you?’ said Bridget reluctantly.  ‘I don’t see what you can do.’

’I can go to the War Office—­and to that place where they make enquiries for you.  Of course, I must go to London!—­and I must stay there.  There might be news of him any time.’

Bridget and Hester looked at each other.  The same thought was in their minds.  But Nelly, restored to momentary calmness by her own suggestion, went quickly to Farrell, who with his sister and Marsworth was standing a little way off.