Now, only that morning Mrs. Otway had read in a leading article the words, "Namur is impregnable, or, if not impregnable, will certainly hold out for months. That this is so is fortunate, for we cannot disguise from ourselves that Namur is the key to France." "Are you sure that the news is true?" she asked quietly, and, disturbed as he was himself, the Dean was surprised to see the change which had come over his neighbour's face; it suddenly looked aged and grey. "Yes, I'm afraid it's true--in fact, it's official. Still, I don't know that the falling of a fortress should really affect our Expeditionary Force." Mary Otway did not pay her proposed call on Mrs. Robey. Instead, she retraced her steps into the Trellis House, and looked eagerly through the papers of the last few days. She no longer trusted the Dean and his easy-going optimism. The fall of Namur without effect on the Expeditionary Force? As she read on, even she saw that it was bound to have--perhaps it had already had--an overwhelming effect on the fortunes of the little British Army. From that hour onwards a heavy cloud of suspense and of fear hung over Witanbury Close: over the Deanery, where the cherished youngest daughter tried in vain to be "brave," and to conceal her miserable state of suspense from her father and mother; over "Robey's," all of whose young men were in the Expeditionary Force; and very loweringly over the Trellis House. What was now happening over there, in France, or in Flanders? People asked each other the question with growing uneasiness. The next day, that is, on the Tuesday, sinister rumours swept over Witanbury--rumours that the British had suffered a terrible defeat at a place called Mons. In her restlessness and eager longing for news, Mrs. Otway after tea went into the town. She had an excuse, an order to give in at the Stores, and there the newly-named Alfred Head came forward, and attended on her, as usual, himself. "There seems to be serious news," he said respectfully. "I am told that the English Army has been encircled, much as was the French Army at Sedan in 1870." As he spoke, fixing his prominent eyes on her face, Mr. Head's customer now suddenly felt an inexplicable shrinking from this smooth-tongued German-born man. "Oh, we must hope it is not as bad as that," she exclaimed hastily. "Have you any real reason for believing such a thing to be true, Mr. Heg--I mean, Mr. Head?" And he answered regretfully, "One of my customers has just told me so, ma'am. He said the news had come from London--that is my only reason for believing it. We will hope it is a mistake." * * * * *