“A registered letter is a novelty to Robin,” observed Alicia, smiling, as she broke open the envelope in her hand; “I never knew him to receive one before.”
“Nor dart away in such a hurry when the English mail was about to be opened,” said Harold. “This is Clarence’s handwriting, this Ida’s neat little hand; their letters will be interesting, as telling us what success they have had in collecting money for the purchase of the fort.”
Harold and Alicia were engaged in reading their letters, when Robin returned to the room, his face radiant with pleasure.
“I hope, Robin, that your despatch has been as cheering as ours,” said Harold.
“First, let me tell you of mine,” cried Alicia. “Here’s a cheque for fifty rupees for our work; you will never guess who sent it.”
“Tell me; I am in no mood for riddles,” said Robin gaily.
“Would you think it? the cheque is from Mr. Thole, with a nice little note besides.”
“And so much money has been collected by friends in England,” said Harold, “that we have almost enough to purchase the fort; only about a hundred rupees are wanting.”
“Then take the fort at once, and plant on it the red-cross banner,” cried Robin gaily: “here is the powder and shot which is lacking,” and with the joyousness of a boy he tossed to Harold a currency note for a hundred rupees.
So Robin’s secret was out. He had entered the literary arena, and with a success that surprised himself.