Already the pain had begun, and yet
with it was that queer sense of exaltation which comes with
sacrifice.
"We have been very nearly foolish," he told her, with grave
kindliness. "It is well, perhaps, that we were in time. Those
windows which lead into your library,--through which I first came
to you, by-the-by,--" he added, with a strange, reminiscent little
sigh, "are they open?"
"Yes!" she whispered.
"Come, then," he invited. "Before I leave there is something I want
to make clear to you."
They made their way rather like two conspirators along the little
terraced walk. Philippa opened the window and closed it again
behind them. The room was empty. Lessingham, watching her closely,
almost groaned as he saw the wonderful relief in her face. She
threw off the cloak, and he groaned again as he remembered how
nearly it had been his task to remove it. In her plain travelling
dress, she turned and looked at him very pathetically.
"You have, perhaps, a morning paper here?" he enquired.
"A newspaper? Why, yes, the Times," she answered, a little surprised.
He took it from the table towards which she pointed, and held it
under the lamplight. Presently he called to her. His forefinger
rested upon a certain column.
"Read this," he directed.
She read it out in a tone which passed from surprise to blank wonder:
Commander Sir Henry Cranston, Baronet, to receive the D.
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