“My darling,” she whispered, “oh! my darling, how have I lived without you? Well, that is over, since alive or dead we can never be parted more, not really—not really!” Then she opened her grey eyes and stretched out her arms to receive him, and he was glad, for he seemed to be listening to that which he was not meant to hear. A little later there came a knocking at the door, and a page boy’s squeaky voice without said: “Telegram for you, Sir.” Godfrey called to him to put it down, but Isobel turned pale and shivered. “What can it be?” she said, clasping him. “No one knows our address.” “Oh, yes, they do,” he answered. “You forget you telephoned to the Hall yesterday afternoon about the hospital business you had forgotten and gave our number, which would be quite enough.” “So I did, like a fool,” she exclaimed, looking as though she were going to cry. “Don’t be frightened, dear,” he said. “I dare say it is nothing. You see we have no one to lose.” “No, no, I feel sure it is a great deal and—we have each other. Read it quickly and get the thing over.” So he rose and fetched the yellow envelope which reposed upon Isobel’s boots outside the door. A glance showed him that it was marked “official,” and then his heart, too, began to sink. Returning to the bed, he switched on the electric light and opened the envelope. “There’s enough of it,” he said, drawing out three closely written sheets. “Read, read it!” answered Isobel. So he read. It was indeed a very long telegram, one of such as are commonly sent at the expense of the country, and it came from the War Office. The gist of it was that attempts had been made to communicate with him at an address he had given in Cornwall, but the messages had been returned, and finally inquiry at Hawk’s Hall had given a clue. He was directed to report himself “early to-morrow” (the telegram had been sent off on the previous night) to take up an appointment which would be explained to him. There was, it added, no time to lose, as the ship was due to sail within twenty-four hours. “There!” said Isobel, “I knew it was something of the sort. This,” she added with a flash of inspiration, “is the result of the meddling of that old General Cubitte. You see it must be a distant appointment, or they would not talk about the ship being due to sail.” “I dare say,” he answered as cheerfully as he could. “Such things are to be expected in these times, are they not?” “Too bad!” she went on, “at any rate they might have let you have your leave.” Then they rose because they must and made pretence to eat some breakfast, after which they departed in one of Isobel’s motors, which had been summoned by telephone from her London house, to the Department indicated in the telegram. They need not have hurried, since the important person whom Godfrey must see did not arrive for a full hour, during all which time Isobel sat waiting in the motor. However, when he appeared he was very gracious.