" And she named an old-fashioned hotel in Jermyn
Street.
Halcyone took them in her cold, trembling fingers, and then nearly
dropped them on the floor, for the top envelope was addressed in the
handwriting of her beloved! She knew it well. Had she not, during the
past years, often seen such missives, from which the Professor had read
her scraps of news?
She carried it to the light and scrutinized the postmark. It was
"London," and posted that very morning early!
For a moment all was a blank, and she found herself grasping the back of
Cheiron's big chair to prevent herself from falling.
John had been in London at the moment when she was waiting by the tree!
What mystery was here?
At first the feeling was one of passionate relief. There had been no
accident, then; he had been obliged to go--there would be some
explanation forthcoming. Perhaps he had even written to her, too--and
she gave a bound forward, as though to run back to La Sarthe Chase. But
then she recollected the evening postman did not come to the house, and
they got no letters as Cheiron did, who was on the road.
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