"Me, miss. Sir Denzil would like to see Mr. Eager."
"He has got some news at last?"
"Ay, some papers just come in. But I don't know what it is. Bad, I should say, from the looks of him--he was so mortal quiet."
"We will come at once. Let me go alone, Charlie. You're tired out."
"Not a bit of it, my dear. I feel like a hound on the scent at the word 'news.' Don't you think you'd better wait here till I bring you word?"
"I can't wait," she said breathlessly. And they went along together.
Sir Denzil met them with ominous impassivity.
"I trust Kennet did not raise your hopes," he said, with the corners of his mouth drawn down somewhat more even than usual, and a glance that never wavered for a moment. "This arrived just after you left, Mr. Eager. It explains, of course, to some extent----"
It was a letter from General Canrobert, informing Sir Denzil, with many complimentary phrases as palliatives to the blow, that Colonel Carron had met his death while gallantly repelling a sortie on the night of the 12th January. He had left instructions, in case of need, for word to be sent to Sir Denzil and it was in pursuance thereat etc. etc.
"That, of course, explains why he has been unable to pursue his inquiries after the boys," said Sir Denzil, in an absolutely unmoved voice.