"Monday, 27th Sept., 1915.
"My own sweet Little Yeogh Wough,—
"The news from the French front this morning filled us with joy. For a moment I positively danced. All those thousands of German prisoners meant so much! And then a horrible thought came to me that it must mean worse danger for you; and now a letter from Vera says that you have sent her a few words—of which Big Yeogh Wough is perhaps a little jealous—to say that the posts will be stopped very soon.
"This strikes me as very significant. It would have given me a danger signal, even apart from that 'short Latin sentence' which I hear you have also sent.
"Dearest, your Big Yeogh Wough, who has always been so proud of you ever since you have been born, is prouder of you than ever now. She is glad you are where your duty of honour and manhood demand that you should be. You are fighting, not only for us and all that we glory in, but for those who have died—and who are all your brothers, whether they were peers or privates. I feel at this moment that I should like to go the round of the whole army and kiss them every one—but keeping always a special kiss for you.
"But this pride and this gladness don't prevent me from being on the rack. I have been troubled for some days past; and I should have written to you several times during this interval in which I have been silent, if it were not that I have been much more than usually occupied with the delicate steering of things in general. But always my heart and my thoughts are with you, my very precious boy. I only wish my love could be of use as a talisman, to guard you against all the dangers.
"Your always devoted, in all lives through which we may pass,
"Big Yeogh Wough.
"Your cake will be sent off to you to-day. The Bystander has just written to you."
Ah, thank God! He came safely through that time of extra-acute peril. If he had not come through it—what sort of human wreck should I be now?
I shivered as I put the letter down with fingers that were not quite steady.
Then I took up another letter from the pile—a letter with a London postmark and with a Hammersmith address for its heading.
"What a common-looking, sloppy handwriting!" I thought as I looked at it.
And the thing began:
"You dear pigeon of a Roly."
And it was signed:
"Your duck of a Queenie."
And underneath the "Queenie" there were actually crosses for kisses, as if the letter were from a tweenymaid!