The coach rolled by with less noise than usual, on the carpet of snow churned brown with traffic. As it passed, the guard lifted his horn and blew cheerily. She followed, telling herself it was a good omen. During the long wait outside the post office she rebuked herself more than once for building a hope upon it. Name after name was called, and at each call a prisoner pushed forward to the doorway for his letter. She caught sight of the General on the outskirts of the crowd. Her brother would not come out until every letter had been distributed.
But when he appeared in the doorway she read the good news in his face. He made his way briskly towards her, the prisoners falling back to give passage.
"Right; it has come," he said. "Trot away home and have the valises packed, while I run into 'The Dogs' and order the chaise."
Once clear of the town, she galloped. There was little need to hurry, for her own valise had been packed overnight.
Having sent Mudge to attend to her brother's, she ran to Narcissus' room—his scriptorium, as he called it.
Narcissus was at home to-day, busy with the cellar accounts. He took stock twice a year and composed a report in language worthy of a survey of the Roman Empire. Before he could look up, Dorothea had kissed him on the crown of his venerable head.
"Such news, dear! Endymion has ordered a chaise from 'The Dogs,' and is going to take me to Dartmoor!"
"Dartmoor—God bless my soul!" He rubbed his head, and added with a twinkle: "Why, what have you been doing?"
"Endymion has a cartel of exchange for M. Raoul, and we are to carry it."
"Ah, so that is what you two have been conspiring over? I smelt a rat somewhere. But, really, this is delightful of you—delightful of you both. Only, why on earth should you be carrying the release yourselves, in this weather."