Away rushed Wentworth to meet him with an ardour by no means consistent with his recent speech. The fact is, however tired of life we may be, however happy in some rural retreat, however absorbed and enraptured with one another a man and wife may be—especially during the idle season known as the honeymoon—there is a mysterious fascination in the appearance of the postman, and we bless the memory of Sir Rowland Hill. ‘There are no end of letters and newspapers. I vote we don’t look at them till after breakfast to-morrow, I will have a cigar, and you can work.’ ‘Yes, that is how you men talk. I am to work like a slave, while you are to lie on the grass smoking. But I suppose I must do as you tell me, for “Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.” I tell you what—if you’re lazy, I will be lazy, too.’ ‘Yes, that is what I meant.’ ‘Then why did you not say so, sir?’ ‘I did. When I tell a woman to work, of course I mean that you are to sit and do nothing.’ ‘Yes, but I am not going to do nothing. I am going to read what looks to me a very extraordinary letter. It bears the Sloville post-office mark. It was addressed to London, and here it has followed us all the way from town. I must look at it—it is such a scrawl.’ ‘Remember our compact.’ ‘No, I don’t. I must open this letter—I am dying to read it.’ ‘Oh, the curiosity of woman,’ said Wentworth, as he smoked his cigar. Presently Rose gave a shriek. ‘What is it all about?’ asked Wentworth. ‘There, read it for yourself,’ Rose exclaimed. It was as follows: ‘DEAR MADAME, ‘That pore boy as you took from Sloville, is the true son and heir of Sir Watkin Strahan, go to horspitle in the Boro’ where a woman named Sally is hill. She can prove it—but she can’t live long. Hopin’ this will find you in ’elth as it leaves me at this present time, I am yours most respectfully a sincere friend to the pore boy.’ ‘Wentworth,’ said Rose energetically, ‘we must leave here by the first boat to-morrow morning.’ ‘What a bore. I suppose we must. And so fades away love in a cottage,’ exclaimed Wentworth, as he went indoors to help his wife to pack up. CHAPTER XXV. A REVELATION. No sooner was Rose in London than she made her way to the hospital indicated in the anonymous note which had been the cause of her and her husband’s unwelcome return to town. She had never been inside a hospital before. There was something bewildering in its vastness and its antiquity. Close by ran swift the current of City life, ever turbid and boisterous. In there all was calm and still. The one thought that brightened and hallowed the spot was the life that had been saved, especially among the poor, to whom our great hospitals are indeed a blessing and a boon. ‘I want to see a patient in the women’s ward,’ said Rose to the porter, as she alighted at the entrance. The porter expressed his fear that she had come in vain, unless she had a better clue to identification.