As she made her way up stairs the postman’s knock sounded through the house, and then Lionel came running to her with a letter.
Her correspondence was very small, and she glanced with but faint interest at the little packet in her cousin’s hand.
He was carrying it seal upwards, and suddenly her heart beat with a wild, mad beating, and the colour leapt to her pale cheeks.
She could see that it was sealed with wax. There was only one person that she knew who fastened his letters so. Reuben invariably made use of the signet ring which had belonged to his father, engraved with a crest duly bought and paid for at the Heralds’ College.
She took the precious thing in her hand, closing her fingers over it, and smiled radiantly at the little boy.
“Thank you, Lionel.”
Her room gained, she locked the door, sat down on the bed, and looked at her letter—
“To Miss Judith Quixano.”
The writing was certainly not Reuben’s, and he never used the “To.”
Then she turned it over and examined the seal, the seal that was totally unfamiliar. She felt a little sick, a little dazed, and leaned her head against the wall.