At this moment a loud rat-tat-tat sounded on the knocker, and with one accord the hearers darted into the hall, and stood panting and gasping, while Arthur threw open the door.
“Telegram, sir!” said a sharp, young voice, and the brown envelope which causes so much agitation in quiet households was thrust forward in a small cold hand. Arthur looked at the address and handed it to the vicar.
“It is for you, sir, but it cannot possibly be anything about—”
Mr Asplin tore open the envelope, glanced over the words, and broke into an exclamation of amazement. “It is! It is from Peggy herself!—‘Euston Station. Returning by 10.30 train. Please meet me at twelve o’clock.—Peggy.’ What in the world does it mean?” He looked round the group of anxious faces, only to see his own expression of bewilderment repeated on each in turn.
“Euston! Returning! She is in London. She is coming back from town!”
“She ran away to London, to-night when she was so happy, when Arthur had just arrived! Why? Why? Why?”
“She must have caught the seven o’clock train.”
“She must have left the house almost immediately after going upstairs to dress for dinner.”
“Oh, father, why should she go to London?”
“I am quite unable to tell you, my dear,” replied the vicar drily. He looked at his wife’s white, exhausted face, and his eyes flashed with the “A-word-with-you-in-my-study” expression, which argued ill for Miss Peggy’s reception. Mrs Asplin, however, was too thankful to know of the girl’s safety to have any thought for herself. She began to smile, with the tears still running down her face, and to draw long breaths of relief and satisfaction.