and looked, I thought, anxious and flurried.
"There is nothing the matter, Polly, is there?" I asked anxiously. "You have not any bad news to tell me?"
"No, Agnes, none at all," Polly said.
"You are quite sure, Polly?" I repeated, for I could not help thinking that there was something the matter. "You have not heard any bad news from Harry, in Australia, have you?"
"No, indeed, Agnes; I have not heard of him since the last mail, a fortnight since, and you had a letter from him at the same time."
"Nor about Ada, or her family?" I persisted.
"Nothing at all, Agnes. I assure you I have no bad news of any kind whatever to give you."
I could not help believing, although still I could not understand her.
"Excuse me, Polly," I said, at last; "but you have not had any foolish quarrel with Charley, have you?"
"Bless me, no, Agnes," she laughed. "The idea of my quarrelling with my dear old bear. What will you imagine next?"
I could not help laughing, too—the idea was ridiculous, certainly; for Polly and Charley were about as little likely to quarrel as any pair I ever saw. Here Hannah brought up the tray. Polly ate a little and had a glass of wine. When Hannah took away the things, she requested her to leave a tumbler of water on the table, as she felt rather thirsty after her journey. When we were alone again, she asked me to give her a piece of work to keep her fingers employed while she talked to me.
I accordingly gave her a piece of embroidery to do, and we chatted over our friends at Putney, and my quiet little doings here; but I could see that Polly was thinking of something else, for her answers to my questions were sometimes quite vague; and it certainly was not from the attention she was bestowing upon my work, for I could see that her needle moved quite mechanically, and that she was making a terrible mess of my unfortunate piece of embroidery. I was quite confirmed in my belief that something or other was the matter; but as Polly was evidently not inclined to tell it, I waited patiently, but rather anxiously, for her to take her own time and manner of so doing.
At last she changed the subject of the conversation from Putney and Canterbury to a topic in which I at first felt little interest, as I thought she had merely started it to delay the communication which I was sure, whatever it was, was coming presently.
"Have you seen the paper to-day, Agnes?"
"I have seen our paper; but that, as I have told you, is three days' old. Is there any particular news this morning?"
"The Indian mail is in to-day."
"Is it?" I said, indifferently. "One has no great interest in it now, ever since Sir Colin Campbell relieved Lucknow. One mail is exactly like another; merely the exploits of the flying columns, and the gradual restoration of order."
"Yes, Agnes; but still, many of these captures of forts are very gallant actions."
"No doubt, Polly; but unless one has some friend actually engaged, one has no great interest in them."
"No," Polly said, absently, "of course not. Still, it is pleasant to read how sometimes, when they take these distant forts, they find captives long since missing, and given up by their friends."
"Yes, indeed," I said, "I always do feel an interest in that; it is such joyous news to those who have grieved for them."
Polly was silent; and I wondered how much longer she was going on talking about indifferent matters, and what it could be that she took so long before she could tell me. Presently she asked—
"Do you think, Agnes, that sudden joy ever kills?"
"I do not know, Polly, my experience has been so entirely the other way that I cannot say how it might be; and there is one thing certain that I am never likely to have the experiment tried upon myself."
"I do not know that," Polly said in a low voice.
There was a something in the way she spoke, a strange meaning tone which sent a thrill through me; and yet there was no good news I could have to receive, except, indeed, that the will was found; but if it ever should be, I should be more likely to give the news to Polly than she to me; besides, even this would give me no such great pleasure now.
"Who can tell," Polly went on, seeing that I made no remark, "such strange things do happen, that one should never be surprised. Fortunes turn up which were long thought lost; people come to life again who were long since mourned for as dead; people, for instance, supposed to be lost at sea, but who were picked up by some passing ship; people, who in this Indian mutiny we were speaking of just now, have been hidden for months by some native prince or peasant; officers who have been cut off from their regiments, and left for dead on the battle-field."
I had dropped my work now, and was looking at her, with my breath held, while my heart seemed to stop beating. What did she mean? These questions about sudden joy, this talk about officers found after being long supposed dead?—could it be?—but I could not speak. Polly looked up at me now for the first time, for she had before kept her eyes on her work; then she threw down the embroidery, came over to me, and knelt down beside me.
"Drink a little water, Agnes, prepare yourself to bear what I have to tell you. God is very, very good to you, Agnes. The news from India to-day, says, that two officers long supposed to be dead have been recovered, and one of them is——"
"Percy," I gasped.
"Yes, dearest, your own Percy Desborough."
I did not faint; by a mighty effort I kept myself from screaming wildly, then all the blood seemed to rush up to my head, and I should have fallen had not Polly supported me, and sprinkled some water in my face and moistened my lips with it. Then the quiet tears of joy and thankfulness came to my relief, and I was able to hang round Polly's neck and kiss her and cry with her for a little time, till I was composed enough to kneel down at the sofa, and to thank God for this His great and unexpected mercy to me. When I rose from my knees, I felt more myself again, but I was still dazed and giddy with my great joy. I could hardly even now believe that it was true, and that Percy whom I had mourned as dead so long was yet alive—would yet come home again; it seemed too great a happiness to be true, and yet I could not doubt, for there was the paragraph in the Indian telegram, before my eyes, to assure me that it was so.
"Two officers, Major Payne, 105th regiment, and Lieutenant Desborough, 25th Lancers, were found concealed by friendly natives in the district of Jemundar, by the flying column under Colonel Heaviside."
There could be no mistake or doubt about it. Percy was saved. I need not say what my feelings were; they were too deep for me to express then, and are far too deep for me to write of now. Polly was so pleased, too, not only at the news itself, but also because I had borne it better than she had been afraid I should have done. When we became composed at last, Polly made me sit in the easy chair, while she drew a stool up and took her old position upon it by my side, and we talked long and thankfully of my changed life and restored happiness.
At last I said, "Do you know, Polly, I could not think what you had to tell me. I saw you had something on your mind, that you were anxious and absent, and that your visit had some purpose more than you pretended,—and yet, as you assured me that all I cared for were well, I could not conceive what it could be. Did you see it in the paper before Charley started to business?"
"I did,
