“I don’t know about that,” stammered Caroline, blushing a beautiful crimson, “but it was very nice. I wouldn’t have tried to telegraph it if it was something bad, would I?”
“Well, if it was so good,” said Wilfred, “why on earth didn’t you send it?”
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Caroline; “how could I when they wouldn’t let me?”
“Wouldn’t let you?”
“I should think not. They had a dreadful time at the telegraph office.”
“At the telegraph office; were you there?” Wilfred made a violent effort to recollect. “I have it,” he said in stronger tones; “they told me at the hospital. I must get up.”
“No, no; you mustn’t,” said Caroline, interposing.
“Don’t,” said Wilfred; “I have to attend to it.” He spoke with a stern, strange decision, entirely foreign to his previous idle love-making. “I know all about Thorne. He gets hold of our Department Telegraph and sends out a false order, weakens our defences at Cemetery Hill.” The boy got to his feet by this time, steadying himself by Caroline’s shoulder. “They are down on us in a moment.” A look of pain, not physical, shot across his face, but he mastered it. “And she gave it to him, the commission; my sister Edith!” he continued bitterly.
“Oh!” said Caroline; “you know——”
“I know this. If my father were here, he’d see her. As he isn’t here, I will attend to it. Send her to me.”