Teresa made no answer, but smiled faintly and scornfully.
It took no more than this, then, to break up the peace of their reunion! How absurd, to quarrel about Crayven! She was angry at Basil's ready distrust of her. The letter was over-expressive, but
She read it again. Yes, it was a love-letter, but a melancholy one. It was by no means the letter of a happy or triumphant lover. It was not very long: and at the end Crayven said that his district had already been invaded, and that a force of three thousand Turks were camped at two days' journey from him.
"I may not write again," he ended. "But if I get out of this I will, just to let you know. Of course it's a chance whether this letter gets through—but if it does you'll know why I wrote it. I can't help it—I can't go out without a word to you. I was a fool to say I didn't want letters—I do want them. But don't bother about me. Write if you like. But if anything happens to me—there's only one chance out of many that it will—don't let it trouble you. It doesn't matter very much to me, you know."
She sat down and wrote to him, and then walked to the post-office to mail her letter, taking Ronald with her. A way of getting news of him had occurred to her. She sent a cablegram to a friend of hers in London, asking him to find out
