"They would have said if any officers or Commissioners had been wounded," said Sidney. "Now come and tell my father your news, Gavine. He will be so interested. It is such an extraordinary coincidence that you should know someone out there too. How quiet you have kept it."
"Well, he is only a friend," said Gavine shyly. "Nothing more at present. You can't wonder I like Mr. Neville, after all he has done for George."
She accompanied Sidney to the Admiral's study, and there told her story again. The Admiral was delighted.
"He'll do. I always said he'd do. And this fighting is nothing at all. It will clear the air and show that we are in earnest over our out-stations."
When Gavine had gone Sidney went straight to her writing-desk and wrote:
"MY DEAR MR. NEVILLE,
"You don't know what a state of excitement we have been in over your small corner. Father and I have watched for the daily papers eagerly; but how much they omit and how much they misrepresent! Do sit down when you have time and give us a detailed account of all your doings. I have been hearing a lot about you through a girl who has come here lately and is a great friend of young George Lockhart's. You can understand what we have heard and how it has stirred us. How I wish I could peep through a telescope at you. I should like you to know Gavine Norman. She is such a fine splendid girl. And what you have done for George Lockhart, you have done for her. She was so miserable about him before you went out. Oh, how often I wish I were a man to go out into the world to do and dare! But it is good to be friends with the one who does it. And you must never forget that any detail from your seat of war is welcome. Father is stroking himself down with great complacency, saying he knew, and he foretold, and his intuitions were correct that you would do as you have done.
"Things have not gone on exactly the same since you have left us. Fresh personalities have come upon the scene, and have brought with them much interest, some conjecture and alarm, and a good deal of unrest. I feel as if I am on the brink of an earthquake, an upheaval that will lift father and myself right out of our old home and plant us down in some strange soil and surroundings. It may be a false alarm. If it is not, I will tell you where we are taken. Monnie tells me that my creed is, 'I shall never be moved.' Have you got your foundation so firm underfoot that you can give your assent to that? My earthquake is a very earthly one. I think—in fact, I know—that my foundation is immovable, so if one's inner man is anchored 'sure and steadfast' to it, it does not matter about the outer man, does it?
"I think you are going ahead with your building faster than I am. But Empire building is a big thing. I do congratulate you with all my heart upon your success. You see, we have heard more of your doings through George Lockhart than through yourself.
"This is not a very interesting letter, but it will at least let you know that we think of you and talk of you, and look forward to your letters. I am always going to sign myself—
"Your fellow builder,
"SIDNEY URQUHART."
Sidney put her pen down when she had signed her name with a little sigh.
"Oh, how tied a woman is!" she exclaimed. "How she has to keep back all natural expressions of pleasure in what a friend does and says. My heart is too full of his heroism to trust my pen. It would run away with me. I feel I would like to see him. Letters are so stiff, so unsatisfying."
Then she relapsed into dreams—dreams which she had long thought dead, but which kept her wrapped in sweet oblivion of time and surroundings and brought a light to her eyes and a flush upon her cheeks. When she roused herself at last, she laughed at herself.
"I ought to know better than to waste my time in such silliness."