realised, as he seemed to realise then, in front of the fire in
the drawing-room of the Orgreaves, what it must be to be the wife of a
convict. Janet, sitting there as innocent as a doe, knew that Hilda was
the wife of a convict. But did her parents know? And was she aware
that he knew? He wondered, drinking his tea.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIVE.

Then the servant--not the Martha who had been privileged to smile on
duty if she felt so inclined--came with a tawny gold telegram on a
silver plate, and hesitated a moment as to where she should bestow it.

"Give it to me, Selina," said Janet.

Selina impassively obeyed, imitating as well as she could the deportment
of an automaton; and went away.

"That's my telegram," said Mr Orgreave. "How is it addressed?"

"Orgreave, Bleakridge, Bursley."

"Then it's mine."

"Oh no, it isn't!" Janet archly protested. "If you have your business
telegrams sent here you must take the consequences. I always open all
telegrams that come here, don't I, mother?"

Mrs Orgreave made no reply, but waited with candid and fretful
impatience, thinking of her five absent children, and her ten
grandchildren, for the telegram to be opened.

Janet opened it.

Her lips parted to speak, and remained so in silent astonishment. "Just
read that!" she said to Edwin, passing the telegram to him; and she
added to her father: "It was for me, after all."

Edwin read, aloud: "Am sending George down to-day. Please meet 6:30
train at Knype. Love. Hilda."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs Orgreave. "You don't mean to tell me
she's letting that boy travel alone! What next?"

"Where's the telegram sent from?" asked Mr Orgreave.

Edwin examined the official indications: "Victoria."

"Then she's brought him up to London, and she's putting him in a train
at Euston. That's it."

"Only there is no London train that gets to Knype at half-past six,"
Edwin said. "It's 7:12, or 7:14--I forget."

"Oh! That's near enough for Hilda," Janet smiled, looking at her watch.

"She doesn't mean any other train?" Mrs Orgreave fearfully suggested.

"She can't mean any other train. There is no other. Only probably
she's been looking at the wrong time-table," Janet reassured her mother.

"Because if the poor little thing found no one to meet him at Knype--"

"Don't worry, dear," said Janet. "The poor little thing would soon be
engaging somebody'