he carried a telegram, and her mind flew back to its central anxiety. She grew pale herself as she read the message.
“He has been found—at Corrientes. It will take him at least a month to get here.”
“A month—good God!”
“And it may take Mr. Langhope longer.” Their eyes met. “It’s too long?” she asked.
“I don’t know—I don’t know.” He shivered slightly, turning away into the window.
Justine sat down to dash off messages to Mr. Tredegar and the Gaineses: Amherst’s return must be made known at once. When she glanced up, Wyant was standing near her. His air of intense weariness had passed, and he looked calm and ready for action.
“Shall I take these down?”
“No. Ring, please. I want to ask you a few questions.”
The servant who answered the bell brought in a tea-tray, and Justine, having despatched the telegrams, seated herself and began to pour out her tea. Food had been repugnant to her during the first anguished unsettled days, but with the resumption of the nurse’s systematic habits the nurse’s punctual appetite returned. Every drop of energy must be husbanded now, and only sleep and nourishment could fill the empty cisterns.
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