“I suppose he is right, and that it is my duty,” said Joan to herself with a sigh, as she laid down the letter. “Love and hope and happiness have gone from me, nothing is left except duty, so I had better hold fast to it. I will write and say that I will go soon within a few days; though what the Birds will do without me I do not know, unless he will let me give them some of my allowance.” Having come to this determination, Joan wrote her letter and posted it, fearing lest, should she delay, her virtuous resolution might fail her. As she returned from the pillar box, a messenger, who was standing on the steps of No. 8, handed her a telegram addressed to herself. Wondering what it might be, she opened it, to read this message:— “Come down here at once. I am ill and must see you before it is too late. The carriage will meet the five o’clock train at Monk’s Vale station. Wire reply. “LEVINGER,        “_Monk’s Lodge._” “I wonder what he can want to see me for,” thought Joan; then, asking the boy to wait in the passage, she went in to consult Mrs. Bird. “You had best go, my dear,” she said; “I have always thought that there was some mystery about this Mr. Levinger, and now I expect that it is coming out. If you take a cab at once, you will just have time to catch the twelve o’clock train at Liverpool Street.” Joan nodded, and writing one word upon the prepaid answer “Coming,” gave it to the boy and ran upstairs to pack a few things in a bag. In ten minutes a hansom was at the door and she was ready to start. First she bade good-bye to the two invalids, who were much disturbed at this hurried departure; and then to Mrs. Bird, who followed her into the passage kissing her again and again. “Do you know, Joan,” she said, beginning to cry, “I feel as if you were going away for good and I should never see you any more.” “Nonsense, dear,” she answered briefly, for a queer contraction in her throat made a lengthened speech impossible, “I hope to be back in a day or two if all is well.” “Yes, Joan—if all is well, and there’s hope for everybody. Well, good-bye, and God bless you wherever you go—God bless you here and hereafter, for ever and ever!” Then Joan drove away, and as she went it came into her mind that it would be best if she returned no more. She had promised to join her husband in a few days. Why should she not do so at once, and thus avoid the pain of a formal parting with the Birds, her true and indeed her only friends? By half-past four that afternoon the train pulled up at Bradmouth, where she must change into the light railway with tramcar carriages that runs for fifteen or twenty miles along the coast, Monk’s Vale being the second station from the junction.