“There wasn’t much more. I simply sat there, curled up in a heap so as to keep as warm as I could, and waited. After, oh, hours and hours it seemed, I heard someone calling me, and I answered. I did not know at first whether he could hear me; for the fog seemed to force the tones of my voice right back upon me. Soon, however, we were keeping up a regular system of calls.”
“Did you know it was Jim?” asked Martha.
“Of course I wasn’t sure until he was nearly there; then I recognized his voice.
“Thus endeth the tale,” she added laughing; “except that I want to say how awfully sorry I am to have caused you all so much worry.”
“Anyway,” said Martha, “they lived happily ever after.”
Nancy blushed, and looked sharply at Martha; but her remarks were apparently quite innocent of any hidden meaning.
A maid rapped at the door at that moment.
“I was to give these to Miss Pembroke,” she said, when Miss Ashton opened the door, “and ask if she is able to see anyone.”
Miss Ashton took the mass of lovely red roses, freshly cut from some Yarmouth garden, and laid them on Nancy’s bed.
“I’ll go down, and talk to him,” she said; “for I suppose it is Jim.”