“It’s all your fault, foolish Mavis, for coming to Melkbridge,” she remarked, when Mavis had told her of her perplexities.

“But how was I to know?”

“The only way to have guarded against complications was to keep away altogether.  I suppose you wouldn’t go even now?”

“He’s much too ill to move.  Besides—–­”

“Will you go when he’s better, if I tell you something?”

“What?” asked Mavis, seriously alarmed by the deadly earnestness of her friend’s manner.

“Miss Hunter!”

“What of her?”

“First tell me, where was it you went for your—­your honeymoon?”

“Polperro.  Why?”

“That’s one of the places she’s been to.”

“And you think—–?”

“Her manner’s so funny.  And you wondered why I was so jolly keen on your not coming to Melkbridge!”

“I thought—­I hoped my troubles were at an end,” murmured Mavis.

“Whatever happens, you can rely on me till the death—­when it’s after dark.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mavis.

“Why, that much, much as I love you, I’m not going to risk the loss of my winter fire, hot-water bottles, and books, for getting mixed up in any scrape pretty Mavis gets herself into.”

The next morning Mavis went to business in a state bordering on distraction.  The baby was not one whit better, and even hopeful Mrs Trivett had shaken her head sadly.  But she had pointed out that Mavis could not help matters by remaining at home; she also promised to send for a doctor should the baby’s health not improve in the course of the morning.  Mavis was so distraught that she stared wildly at the one or two people she chanced to meet, who, knowing her, seemed disposed to stop and speak.  She wondered if she should let her lover know the disquieting state of his son’s health.  So far, she had not told him of her coming to Melkbridge, wishing the inevitable meeting to come as a delightful surprise.  When she got to the office, she found a long letter from Windebank, which she scarcely read, so greatly was her mind disturbed.  She only noted the request on which he was always insisting, namely, that she was at once to communicate with him should she find herself in trouble.

When she got back at midday, she found that, the baby being no better, Mrs Trivett had sent her husband for a doctor who had recently come to Melkbridge; also, that he had promised to call directly after lunch.  With this information, Mavis had to possess herself in patience till she learned the doctor’s report.  That afternoon, the moments were weighted with leaden feet.  Three o’clock came; Mavis was beginning to congratulate herself that, if the doctor had pronounced anything seriously amiss with her child, Mrs Trivett would not have failed to communicate with her, when a boy came into the office to ask for Miss Keeves.

She jumped up excitedly, and the boy put a note into her hand.  A faintness overwhelmed her so that she could hardly find strength with which to tear open the missive.  When she finally did so, she read:  “Come at once, much trouble,” scrawled in Mrs Trivett’s writing.