"Yes, dear, I did. The shunting of the train took so much time that I lost patience and helped myself to your letter. Frith was in a rage, but I shall make things straight with him by a handshake and a promise not to offend again."
"I am so grieved, Norman. You have incurred a risk for my sake, and I fear we shall have trouble," I said. Tears came to my eyes, for I felt it would be too dreadful to have our happiness clouded over by this freak of my dear but rash brother.
"No crying, Berty. You attach too much importance to such a trifling matter. I tell you I will speak to Frith."
There was no help for it. I could only hope for the best, and the sight of Stephen's beaming face, as he leaped from the train, made me for the moment forget all but present happiness.
"You two will like to walk to the Court," said Norman, after the first hand-shakings and congratulations were over. "Parks will see to the luggage, and I want a word with the station-master."
Stephen and I gladly obeyed, and left the station together. Norman turned to Frith, and in his frank way, said—
"I owe you an apology for having meddled with the mail-bag. I was wrong, and you were right; shake hands and receive my pledge never to repeat the offence. Here is the letter I took. Examine the date—the contents, if you like-and satisfy yourself that I took only my own property."
Norman's apology, his friendly manner, and bright, happy face, drove away all bitter feeling from Frith's mind. He would have liked to grasp the hand so frankly offered, but held back, knowing what he had written to head-quarters about the raid on the letter-bag.
"Surely you bear no malice, Frith," said Norman. "I own I was wrong, and I think all the more of you for fearlessly doing your duty and rebuking me."
"It is not that, sir. I had a duty to perform—"