Southwards, at Tintagel and beyond, people on the cliff got away from them as fast as they could, not knowing how soon a great landslip might occur; for the fearful sound was growing sensibly louder. Our group on the terrace at the Bude Villa had ceased conversation, because no one felt inclined for levity, and there was nothing to the purpose to be said.
A sudden thought struck Lesbia; the Dream recurred to her mind in startling significance: and before anyone could remonstrate, she ran into the house, and came out again with the newspaper from her host’s chair held open before her.
‘Good heavens, Mr Whyte!’ she exclaimed, pointing to the special despatch, ‘this explains it all; it’s not an earthquake—it’s a battle! They are fighting already, fighting in the south of Ireland; and I know the place; I’ve been there. There! there! read about the landing of the allies near Cork Harbour, while I ride again into Stratton and get the very latest reports. Don’t mind if I miss lunch, I couldn’t eat any this awful day; you don’t know how interested I feel about it.’
And, without waiting for reply, she had her bicycle out again, of which the handle-bar and one of the treadle-pins were slightly bent, and the steerage shaken very loose; but regardless of the state of her machine, or of her own bruises, in half a minute she was mounted and pedalling away again for Stratton as hard as she could.
