I wish Jill could have heard Gladys talk in this bright, natural way.  I am sure she would not have recognised her snow-maiden.  There was no weary constraint in her manner to-night, no heavy pressure of unnatural care on her young brow:  she seemed too happy to see me again to think of herself at all.

When we had talked a little more I began to approach the subject of Eric very gradually.  At my first word her cheek paled, and the old wistfulness came to her eyes.

‘What of Eric?’ she asked quickly.  ’You look a little strange, Ursula.  Do not be afraid of speaking his name:  he is never out of my thoughts, waking or sleeping.’

I told her that I knew this, but that I had something very singular to narrate, which I feared might excite and disappoint her, but that I could assure her of the certainty that he was alive and well.

She clasped her hands almost convulsively together, and looked at me imploringly.  ‘Only tell me that, and I can bear everything else,’ she exclaimed.

But as she listened her face grew paler and paler, and presently she burst into tears, and sobbed so violently that I was alarmed.

‘It is nothing,—­nothing but joy,’ she gasped out at length.  ’I could not hear you say that you had seen him, my own Eric, and not be overcome.  Oh, Ursula, if I had only been with you!’ And she hid her face on my shoulder, and for a little while I could say no more.

When she was calmed I finished all that I had to tell, and read her the advertisements, but they seemed to frighten her.

‘How dreadful if Etta or Giles should see them!’ she said nervously.  ’Etta is so clever, she finds out everything.  I would not have her read one of them for worlds.  Why did you put your name, Ursula?—­it is so uncommon.’

’No one will connect me with Jack Poynter.  I did not think there would be any risk,’ I replied soothingly.  ’I put “for Gladys’s sake” in the Daily Telegraph.  You see, we must try to attract his notice.’

’Giles never takes in the Daily Telegraph.  We have the Times and the Standard, and the Morning Post for Etta.  Which did you put in the Standard?’

I repeated the advertisement:  ’Jack Poynter’s friends believe him dead, and are in great trouble:  he is entreated to undeceive them.  One word to the old address will be a comfort to his poor sister.’

‘That will do,’ she answered, in a relieved tone.  ’Etta cannot read between the lines there.  Oh, Ursula, do you think that Eric will see them?’

I assured her that there was no doubt on the subject.  All the better class of workmen had access to some club or society, where they saw the leading papers.  I thought the Daily Telegraph the most likely to meet his eyes, and should continue to insert an advertisement from time to time.  ‘We must be patient and wait a little,’ I continued.  ’Even if our appeals do not reach him, there is every probability that Joe Muggins or one of the other workmen will come across him.  We want to find out where Jack Poynter lives.  I mean to write to Joe in a few days, and offer him a handsome sum if he can tell me his address.’