“My dear Eva,—I have to thank you for your kind, cheerful little notes, but I am past cheering. I seem to have arrived at the end of all things. My health has been on the wane ever since I came to this awful place, and I am glad to say that I shall not be here long. As it is, hours seem endless. I have no companions, nothing to do but lie and think; I close my eyes and contemplate the days that are no more, and the people to whom I am no more. I live some happy scenes over and over again. Then I open my eyes to find myself alone and dying, and the worst of it is that I suppose I have deserved my fate. I offended Mrs. Grundy and she has killed me! Poor old Bertie, he will be sorry. I cannot tell you how kind and unselfish he is, but he is obliged to stick to his work, which claims his time like an insatiable monster, and it is reported that the mine is not paying. How I wish I could see your bright, happy face once more! but I know that such a wish is folly. Good-bye, my dear girl, try and think of me as kindly as you can. Bertie will write to you when all is over.
“D. B.”
I must confess that this letter made me shed tears.
After the scene with Balthasar, when he told me of Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s loneliness and illness, I had written to her pretty often, and sent her newspapers, books and sweets—remembering how she loved chocolate. I wondered what Brian would say if he were to come in and find me weeping over a letter from Mrs. Hayes-Billington. Perhaps Ronnie was right, and Brian was a little bit straitlaced.
Another letter that I had recently received was of much more cheerful character. It came from Lizzie Puckle. She wrote to announce that she was about to marry a Canadian engineer, and was sailing for Montreal in a month’s time. I was delighted for Lizzie’s sake that she, too, was about to flap her wings and see the world—but sorry for myself. Somehow Canada seemed so far away, and I felt as if she were about to pass out of my life entirely.
At last the sword that I half dreaded fell! The beginning of the trouble was an order from headquarters announcing that the regiment was not to be relieved for twelve months. This was a blow to some, a relief to others, and a surprise to all. There was a hasty cancelling of sales and a general readjustment of plans. I wrote the news home to Brian and said: “As your father is so much better, I shall look forward to seeing you here very soon.” I felt that in a crisis, or the storm that was approaching, he would be my mainstay. I had always realised that Brian was a strong man.
Immediately after the order respecting reliefs was known, I was conscious of a still greater change in Ronnie. Collarette had been ignominiously defeated; this was a serious blow, and our financial affairs were far from flourishing. I disposed of two of my best scarcely known or worn frocks to the Greys, dismissed the mali, and left off sugar and claret; but to cope with our difficulties was beyond my powers. Instinctively I grasped this truth, and my spirits, once so high and exuberant, now fell to zero.
One Sunday night I noticed that Ronnie, who had been out all day and returned an hour late for dinner, was looking unusually haggard and dejected. He scarcely uttered a word or ate a morsel, but swallowed two very stiff pegs, and when the meal was over rose and said abruptly:
“I have a lot of work to do, Sis; do not mind me but go to bed, and on no account sit up.”