“It all comes too late, Cecil. A little of this encouragement and
appreciation, bestowed three years ago, would have saved this
‘valuable public servant,’ whose loss they deplore so feelingly, to
the public service, for he would have stayed in India, and persevered
in trying for a better post, instead of taking this as a
forlorn-hope.”
“And then we should never have met!” said Cecil. “Well, Lady Haigh, I
am sorry if you are.”
To which no answer could be made, and Lady Haigh ceased her
lamentations. But time was passing on, and still there came no news
from Charlie, with the exception of one telegram announcing his safe
arrival in England. Things were becoming more and more mysterious. Why
should four telegrams alone, all addressed to Sir Dugald, arrive out
of all the missives which it was tolerably certain Charlie had sent
off? Cecil felt sure that he could never have received her letters
without answering them; what, then, had become of the answers? It was
not until Christmas-time that the mystery was solved. Cecil was at the
Residency as usual, and when the mail came in she looked eagerly to
see whether there were any letters for her. Again she was
disappointed; there was only one, and this was a bulky epistle from
her stepmother. The appearance of the letter was characteristic of the
writer. The many closely-written sheets were stuffed into a thin
envelope much too small for them, and this had naturally resented such
treatment by giving way, in consequence of which it had been “found
open, and officially sealed.” The direction was blotted and irregular,
and had evidently been written in a violent hurry; and the stamp,
which was upside down, was of double the proper value. Cecil laughed
at the appearance of the envelope, and mentally pictured little Mrs
Anstruther writing in feverish haste to catch the mail, and scrambling
the letter into the post just in time. As usual, the first page was
dated about a fortnight earlier than the last, and Cecil hurried on to
the end. Here at last was the news for which she had been longing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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