out of this uncomfortable frame of mind, and had ended by being himself infected with her fancies. But he carefully concealed it, and kept watch secretly for any letter or message which might arrive. Sure enough, just before luncheon time there was a ring at the house door, and a telegram was handed in. Mr Bristley took it with an air of indifference, but as soon as he was alone in his study, tore it open with trembling hands. He read it with amazement but at the same time with a feeling of intense relief. In another he was in the garden again with his sister.
‘Lesbie’s all right, Jane, please God, that is, all right herself. But I fear there’s a great national disaster. Read that.’
Mrs Newman snatched it his from hand and read,—
‘From L. Newman, Stratton, to Rev. S. T. Bristley, Dulham, Frogmore, 13th October 189—. All is explained. Dreadful battle going on at Roche’s Tower. We hear it from this coast; took it for earthquake. I start home to-morrow, all well. Use discretion about mother.’
