There, if there was any news of an accident, Sarah Porrit, the
Professor's one female servant, would have heard it.
She started straight across the park, carrying her heavy bag, and
crossed the beech avenue, and so on to the trysting tree. A cold feeling
like some extra disquietude seemed to overcome her as she neared the
haw-haw and the copse. It was as if she feared and yet longed to get
there. But she resisted the temptation, and went straight on to the
little gate and so up the garden to the house.
Mrs. Porrit received her with her usual kindly greeting. All was calm
and peaceful, and while Halcyone controlled herself to talk in an
ordinary voice, the postman's knock was heard. He passed the Professor's
door on the road to Applewood and left the evening mail, when there
chanced to be any.
Mrs. Porrit received the letters--three of them--and then she adjusted
her spectacles, but took them off again.
"After all, since you are here, miss, perhaps as you write better than I
you will be so good as to redirect them on to the master. You know his
address, as usual.
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