As Winter laid its hand with increasing power over the land, so Wyvenwich found itself day by day more isolated from the world, until one morning in the middle of December the last link was severed. A great fall of snow, driven across the North Sea, besieged the Eastern counties, and for a time paralyzed all workers. The coastguards could do nothing, for they were hemmed in by great drifts on Mizzenheath Moor. The boats were full of snow, the roads impassable, and the small branch railroad hopelessly blocked by drifts, sixteen feet deep in parts.
During five days, no news of the outer world reached Wyvenwich, until at last a signalman, whose occupation was gone by reason of the snowed-up railway, made his way on foot from the junction on the main-line, carrying the mail-bag on his shoulders.
This man brought the five-days-old news of the fall of Plevna.
It was almost mid-day before the post-bag was delivered at Wyl's Hall, and the two ladies were sitting in the broad-windowed library when the servant brought it to them. There was a heap of unfinished needlework upon the table, for it will be easily understood that such a woman as the widow would be able to find good work to do in a hard winter.
'Ah!' exclaimed the good lady, throwing her work aside—'letters at last!'
The servant smiled sympathetically, and left the room. The key of the bag was soon taken from its hiding-place in an ornament on the mantelpiece, and Mrs. Wylie shook out the letters upon the table.
'It is delightful,' she exclaimed, 'to be in communication with the outer...'
Suddenly she stopped, and laid the old leather bag aside slowly.
There were two thin brown envelopes among the white ones; also a larger one bearing a foreign stamp, and carrying evident marks of a long journey. This was addressed to Brenda, as were the two telegrams.
'... Outer world,' said Mrs. Wylie, in a peculiar breathless way, finishing her interrupted remark with determination. 'There are ... two telegrams ... for you, Brenda.'