Mrs. Rolleston silently put the letter into her hand, and left the room.  But the privacy of four walls was insufficient for Cecil while permitting herself the dear fascination of perusing Bertie’s handwriting.  She was missing for the next two hours, which Lela was able to account for, having observed her going downstairs dressed for walking.

She did not remember to return Du Meresq’s letter, nor did Mrs. Rolleston ask for it.  Very soon afterwards they also went to England, though the Colonel’s regiment was not sent to the Crimea for some months later.  It was quartered near London, and he took a house for his family in Kensington.  And now a strange fancy possessed Cecil.  It happened one day, when they were out driving, that a little boy drifting across the street with the suicidal insouciance of his kind, got knocked down by their horses, and, of course, had to be driven straight to the hospital to have his injuries investigated.  It was necessary to detain the child, and Cecil walked down most days to bring him toys and inquire into his progress.  There she became acquainted with some members of a sisterhood, who were employed in nursing in the accident ward, and, after the boy had been dismissed, convalescent, and ready to be run over again, she still continued her visits.

What the attraction was, neither of her parents could conceive, for, although the sisterhood was of the High Church order, they observed no particular religious enthusiasm or ritualistic tendencies in their daughter.  “Cecil’s mystery” it was called in the family, for she never spoke of what she had been doing all day, though it was apparently satisfactory, as her spirits were far more even than they had been of late.  It was generally supposed that a charitable fervour had seized her, and that she was visiting among the poor; indeed Mrs. Rolleston had little curiosity to spare at present.  She was living in dread and daily expectation of Colonel Rolleston being sent to the East; and he was engaged, as a calm, brave man might, in arranging his affairs to provide for his family in any event.

The order came at last; it was almost a relief from the continual suspense, and there were a few days for preparation.  On one of these last evenings some of the officers were dining at the Colonel’s, and among them—­which was unusual now—­Fane, who, though believing that Cecil’s love affair with Du Meresq must have been broken off, still honourably abstained from her society till she should, by some sign, absolve him from his promise.  On this occasion though, to her dread, he appeared sentimentally inclined, and Cecil, to whom a Sir Lancelot even would have been intolerable had he attempted to take the place of the lover she had outwardly discarded and inwardly enshrined, took refuge with Jack Vavasour, who regarded the approaching campaign in about the same light as a steeple-chase—­a delightful piece of excitement, with a spice of danger in it.