"The troops in this awful storm!" Judith said. "Will the rain never stop?"
"I wonder where they are?"
"The report this morning said that a renewal of the attack was expected."
"I am not afraid. We remained masters of the field last night, and now all the Army is concentrated there."
"Very true: we may hear of a victory at any moment now, I daresay."
They relapsed into silence. The sound of carriage wheels in the street below roused them. The carriage drew up apparently at the house, and while Judith and Barbara were still looking at each other with a sudden question in their eyes, a double knock fell on the front door. Judith found that she was trembling, and saw that Barbara was gripping the arms of her chair with clenched fingers. Neither seemed capable of moving; each was paper white, staring at the other. But in another minute the butler had opened the door and announced Miss Devenish and Mr Fisher.
Judith got up with a shudder of relief, and turned to receive these unexpected guests. Miss Devenish, who was muffled in a long cloak, ran forward, and caught both her friend's arms in a tight clasp. "Oh, have you news?" she panted. "I could bear it no longer! All yesterday and today in this terrible uncertainty! I thought you might have heard something, that Colonel Audley might have been here!"
Barbara's hands unclenched. She rose, and walked over to the window under pretext of rearranging the blinds.
"No. We have not seen Charles since he left the ball," Judith replied. "Colonel Canning was in last night, and told us then that up till five o'clock Charles was alive and unhurt. We have had no later tidings."
She disengaged one hand, and held it out to Mr Fisher, who shook it warmly, and embarked on a speech of apology for having intruded on her at such a time. She cut him short assuring him that no apology could be thought necessary, and he said, in his unpolished yet kindly way: "That's it: I told my girl here you would be glad to see her. For my part, I'm a plain Englishman, and what I say is, let the Belgians run if they will, for it won't make a ha'porth of odds to our fellows! But the silly miss has been in such a taking, covering her ears every time the cannon sounded, and jumping to the window whenever anyone passed in the street, that in the end I said to her: 'Lucy, my pet,' I said, 'rain or no rain, you'll pop on your cloak and we'll drive straight round to your good friend, Lady Worth, and see what she may be able to tell us'."