In time, as the peaceful days crept by, they were sorry that, yielding to a romantic impulse, they had directed that neither paper nor letter should be forwarded during their absence. As a result of this prohibition their entire correspondence while they stayed in the valley consisted of one picture-postcard despatched by Madame Amberg from Liverpool at the moment of her embarkation for an extended lecture tour in the States. It was sent three days after their wedding, and expressed exuberant affection, but was singularly lacking in news of the outside world. To remove the prohibition would be to confess failure and suggest boredom, therefore neither ventured to hint at it; all the same, they knew in their secret hearts that they had overrated their resourcefulness. It was not that they palled on each other—far from it; but part at least of their mutual attraction was their mutual interest in certain subjects and limited phases of activity. Madame Amberg’s revolutionary library, valuable as it was in distracting their thoughts from the silence and beauty around them and defending them against the unknown, could not entirely supply the place of daily whirl and unceasing snarl and argument; William pined unconsciously for the din and dust of the platform and Griselda missed the weekly temper into which she worked herself in sympathy with her weekly _Suffragette_. She missed it so much that at last she was moved to utterance—late on a still, heavy evening in August, when once or twice there had come up the valley a distant mutter as of thunder. "Dear," she said gently, as they sat by the window after supper, "I don’t know how you feel about it, but I am beginning to think that our life here is almost too peaceful. It is beautiful to sit here together and dream and forget the world—but is it a preparation for the life we are to lead? Is it a preparation for our work?" William sighed a gentle sigh of relief, and his hand went out to his wife’s in a squeeze of agreement and gratitude. As usual, their minds had jumped together and the thought of twain had been uttered by the lips of one. "I’ve been thinking the same thing myself," he said. "It has struck me more than once. As you say, it’s beautiful here in the heart of the country—nothing could be more beautiful. But I have wondered, especially lately, if it isn’t enervating. It is good for some people, perhaps; but when you have an aim in life and the fighting spirit in you——" "Yes," Griselda flared responsively, "it’s the fighting spirit—and the Cause calling to us. I’ve been hearing the call getting louder and louder; we can’t stand aside any longer, we haven’t the right to stand aside. How can I—how dare I—rest and enjoy myself when, there are noble women struggling for freedom, suffering for freedom, keeping the flag flying——?"