clicked. Then Jenny held the letter up under the flame of the passage
gas. She read there by this meagre light her own name, the address,
written in a large hand, very bold, with a sharp, sweeping stroke under
all, such as a man of impetuous strength might make. There was a blue
seal fastening the flap--a great pool of solid wax. Trembling so that
she was hardly able to tear the envelope, Jenny returned to the kitchen,
again scanning the address, the writing, the blue seal with its Minerva
head. Still, in her perplexity, it seemed as though her task was first
to guess the identity of the sender. Who could have written to her? It
was unheard of, a think for wondering jest, if only her lips had been
steady and her heart beating with normal pulsation. With a shrug, she
turned back from the seal to the address. She felt that some curious
mistake had been made, that the letter was not for her at all, but for
some other Jenny Blanchard, of whom she had never until now heard. Then,
casting such a fantastic thought aside with another impatient effort,
she tore the envelope, past the seal, in a ragged dash. Her first
glance was at the signature. "Yours always, KEITH."

Keith! Jenny gave a sob and moved swiftly to the light. Her eyes were
quite blurred with shining mist. She could not read the words. Keith!
She could only murmur his name, holding the letter close against her.


ii

"MY DEAR JENNY," said the letter. "Do you remember? I said I should
write to you when I got back. Well, here I am. I can't come to you
myself. I'm tied here by the leg, and mustn't leave for a moment. But
you said you'd come to me. Will you? Do! If you can come, you'll be a
most awful dear, and I shall be out of my wits with joy. Not really out