Cradock paused for a single instant as if irresolute, then, without more
ado, he took her at her word. He smoothed the paper out without the
smallest change of countenance, and read it, while she stood quivering
with impotent fury by his side. It was a long telegram, and it took some
seconds to read; but he did not look up till he had mastered it.
"Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye," so ran the message--"It is no
red-letter day for me, but I wish you joy with all my heart. Spare a
thought now and then for the good old times and the boy you left behind
you.--Your loving Jerry."
Amid a buzz of congratulation, Piet Cradock handed the missive back to
his bride with a simple "Thank you!" that revealed nothing whatever of
what was in his mind.
She took it, without looking at him, with nervous promptitude, and the
incident passed.
The guests were many, and Nan's attention was very fully occupied. No
casual observer, seeing her smiling face, would have suspected the
turmoil of doubt that underlay her serenity.
Only Mona, her favourite sister, had the smallest inkling of it, but even
Mona was not in Nan's confidence just then. No intimate word of any sort
passed between them up in the old bedroom that they had shared all their
lives during the fleeting half-hour that Nan spent preparing for her
journey. They could neither of them bear to speak of the coming
separation, and that embodied everything.
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