I have had a very rough time here,but by the grace of Providence I stumbled up against an old
friend the other day, Bertram Maderstrom, whom you must have
heard me speak of in my college days. It isn't too much to say
that he has saved my life. He has unearthed your parcels, found
me decent quarters, and I am getting double rations. He has
promised, too, to get this letter through to you.
You needn't worry about me now, dear. I am feeling twice the
man I was a month ago, and I shall stick it out now quite easily.
Write me as often as ever you can. Your letters and Helen's make
all the difference.
My love to you and to Henry.
Your affectionate brother, RICHARD.
P.S. Is Henry an Admiral yet? I suppose he was in the Jutland
scrap, which they all tell us here was a great German victory. I
hope he came out all right.
Philippa read the postscript with a little shiver. Then she set her teeth as though determined to ignore it.
“Isn't it wonderful!” she exclaimed, turning towards Helen with glowing eyes. “Now yours, dear?”
Helen's voice trembled as she read. Her eyes, too, at times were misty:
DEAREST,
I am writing to you so differently because I feel that you will
really get this letter. I have bad an astonishing stroke of luck,
as you will gather from Philippa's note. You can't imagine the
difference. A month ago I really thought I should have to chuck
it in. Now I am putting on flesh every day and beginning to feel
myself again. I owe my life to a pal with whom I was at college,
and whom you and I, dearest, will have to remember all our lives.
I think of you always, and my thoughts are like the flowers of
which we see nothing in these hideous huts. My greatest joy is
in dreaming of the day when we shall meet again.
Write to me often, sweetheart. Your letters and my thoughts of
you are the one joy of my life.
Always your lover,
DICK.
There were a few moments of significant silence. The girls were leaning together, their arms around one another's necks, their heads almost touching. Behind them, their visitor continued to eat and drink. He rose at last, however, reluctantly to his feet, and coughed. They started, suddenly remembering his presence. Philippa turned impulsively towards him with outstretched hands.
“I can't tell you how thankful we are to you,” she declared.
“Both of us,” Helen echoed.
He touched with his fingers a box of cigarettes which stood upon the tea-table.
“You permit?” he asked.
“Of course,” Philippa assented eagerly. “You will find some matches on the tray there. Do please help yourself. I am afraid that I must have seemed very discourteous, but this has all been so amazing. Won't you have some fresh tea and some toast, or wouldn't you like some more sandwiches?”
“Nothing more at present, thank you,” he replied. “If you do not mind, I would rather continue our conversation.”
“These letters are wonderful,” Philippa told him gratefully. “You know from whom they come, of course. Dick is my twin brother, and until the war we had scarcely ever been parted. Miss Fairclough here is engaged to be married to him. It is quite two months since we had a line, and I myself have been in London for the last three days, three very weary days, making enquiries everywhere.”
“I am very happy,” he said, “to have brought you such good news.”
Once more the normal aspect of the situation began to reimpose itself upon the two women. They remembered the locked door, the secrecy of their visitor's entrance, and his disordered condition.
“May I ask to whom we are indebted for this great service?” Philippa enquired.
“My name for the present is Hamar Lessingham,” was the suave reply.
“For the present?” Philippa repeated. “You have perhaps, some explanations to make,” she went on, with some hesitation; “the condition of your clothes, your somewhat curious form of entrance?”
“With your permission.”
“One moment,” Helen intervened eagerly. “Is it possible, Mr. Lessingham, that you have seen Major Felstead lately?”
“A matter of fifty-six hours ago, Miss Fairclough. I am happy to tell you that he was looking, under the circumstances, quite reasonably well.”
Helen caught up a photograph from the table by her side, and came over to their visitor's side.
“This was taken just before he went out the first time,” she continued. “Is he anything like that now?”
Mr. Hamar Lessingham sighed and shook his head.
“You must expect,” he warned her, “that prison and hospital have had their effect upon him. He was gaining strength every day, however, when I left.”
Philippa held out her hand. She had been looking curiously at their visitor.
“Helen, dear, afterwards we will get Mr. Lessingham to talk to us about Dick,” she insisted. “First there are some questions which I must ask.”
He bowed slightly and drew himself up. For a moment it seemed as though they were entering upon a duel—the slight, beautiful woman and the man in rags.
“Just now,” she began, “you told us that you saw Major Felstead, my brother, fifty-six hours ago.”
“That is so,” he assented.
“But it is impossible!” she pointed out. “My brother is a prisoner of war in Germany.”
“Precisely,” he replied, “and not, I am afraid, under the happiest conditions, he has been unfortunate in his camp. Let us talk about him, shall we?”
“Are you mad,” Helen demanded, “or are you trying to confuse us?”
“My
