She snatched the paper from his hand and spread it out; but tears blinded her, and she could not read a word. "For God's sake, tell me the worst!" was her cry. "Is my darling--is Harold----"
"He is missing!" Mr. Scarse said roughly. "Don't look like that, Brenda. He may have been taken prisoner, and then he would be all right."
"Missing!" echoed the poor young wife. "Oh, poor Harold, pray God he is not dead!"
"Of course he's not. His name would be amongst the killed if he were. He is missing--that is all. He was taken prisoner, no doubt, at the passage of the Tugela. Hope for the best, Brenda."
"Van Zwieten," she said faintly. "I hope this is none of his work."
"Not it. If he had been in the neighborhood Wilfred would have let us know. This is only one of the ordinary chances of war. You should be thankful, my dear, that he isn't on the list of killed or wounded. The chances are that he is a prisoner, and in safety."
"I hope so! I hope so! But, father, let us go down to the War Office!"
"The War Office will know no more than is in this paper."
"I want to make certain of that. Come, father."
"My dear child, you have eaten nothing. You must have some breakfast first."