The Major and Gertie had not much to relate. They had left the market-town immediately after Frank's little matter in the magistrates' court, and had done pretty well, arriving in York ten days ago. They hardly referred to Frank's detention, though he saw Gertie looking at him once or twice in a curiously shy kind of way, and understood what was in her mind. But for very decency's sake the Major had finally to say something. "By the way, my boy, I won't forget what you did for me and for my little woman here. I'm not a man of many words, but--" "Oh! that's all right," said Frank sleepily. "You'll do as much for me one day." The Major assented with fervor and moist eyes. It was not till Frank stood up to go to bed that anyone remembered the letters. "By the way, there are two letters come for you," said the Major, hunting in the drawer of the table. Frank's bearing changed. He whisked round in an instant. "Where are they?" They were put into his hand. He looked at them carefully, trying to make out the postmark--turned them upside down and round, but he made no motion to open them. "Where am I to sleep?" he said suddenly. "And can you spare a bit of candle?" (And as he went upstairs, it must have been just about the time that the letter-box at Barham was cleared for the late Sunday post.) (II) Frank lay a long time awake in the dark that night, holding tight in his hand Jenny's letter, written to him in June. The bill he had not even troubled to open. For the letter said exactly and perfectly just all those things which he most wished to hear, in the manner in which he wished to hear them. It laughed at him gently and kindly; it called him an extraordinarily silly boy; it said that his leaving Cambridge, and, above all, his manner of leaving it--Frank had added a postscript describing his adventure with the saddle and the policeman--were precisely what the writer would have expected of him; it made delightful and humorous reflections upon the need of Frank's turning over a new leaf--there was quite a page of good advice; and finally it gave him a charming description--just not over the line of due respect--of his father's manner of receiving the news, with extracts from some of the choicest remarks made upon that notable occasion. It occupied four closely-written pages, and if there were, running underneath it all, just the faintest taint of strain and anxiety, loyally concealed--well--that made the letter no less pleasant.