Edith Dove and Miss Chain, as well as Lucy, were naturally much depressed by the news, but the squire, on the other hand, stoutly maintained that there was nothing in what they had heard to cause anxiety. In this state of affairs, the receipt of several telegrams was joyfully welcomed.
Miss Dove’s was from Harry Goodall. It said,—
“Have reached Cherbourg and captured C. en route. Hope soon to arrest F. before returning. Excuse more at present.”
“Well, that’s short and sweet enough!” exclaimed the squire. “Edith, no doubt Harry does not think it safe to say more, fearing that the French authorities might detain him.”
“Or worse, papa, he may be badly wounded and too ill to write, and, out of consideration for my feelings, tries to disguise the fact.”
“Not he, Edith. How could he continue the chase for Falcon if he—”
“Well, well, let’s hope for the best. Now, dear Miss Chain, let us hear yours.”
“Mine is from Captain Link, dear. There, read it yourself.”
“Just witnessed spirited, glorious engagement between the balloon party and a French lugger. Have caught Croft. On the track of the other. Returning shortly.”
“Hurray! God bless them!” exclaimed the squire. “But who’s that snivelling?”