Cicely!--and behind her Marsworth.

Nelly drew back.

'Dear Cicely!' she said faintly--'but I can manage--I can manage quite
well.'

Resistance, however, was useless. Marsworth and Cicely, it seemed, were
going to London with her--Cicely probably to France; and Marsworth had
already telegraphed about her passport. She would have gladly gone by
herself, but she finally surrendered--for George's sake, that she might
get to him the quicker.

Then everything was done for her. Amid the bustle of the departing
train, she was piteously aware of Farrell, and just before they started,
she leant out to give him her hand.

'I will tell George all you have done for me,' she said, gulping down a
sob.

He pressed her hand before releasing it, but said nothing. What was
there to say? Meanwhile, Cicely, to ease the situation, was chattering
hard, describing how Farrell had sent his chauffeur to Ambleside on a
motor bicycle, immediately after leaving Nelly, and so had got a
telephone message through to Cicely.

'We had the small car out and ready in ten minutes, and, by good luck,
there was a motor-transport man on leave, who had come to see a brother
in the hospital. We laid hands on him, and he drove us here. But it's a
mercy we're not sitting on the Raise! You remember that heap of stones
on the top of the Raise, that thing they say is a barrow--the grave of
some old British party before the Flood?--well, the motor gave out
there! Herbert and the chauffeur sat under it in the snow and worked at
it. I thought the river was coming over the road, and that the wind
would blow us all away. But it'll be all right for your crossing
to-morrow--the storm will have quite gone down. Herbert thinks you'll
start about twelve o'clock,--and you'll be at the camp that same night.
Oh, isn't it wonderful!--isn't it _ripping_?' cried Cicely under her
breath, stooping down to kiss Nelly, while the two men talked at the
carriage window.--'You're going to get him home! We'll have the best men
in London to look after him. He'll pull through, you'll see--he'll pull
through!'

Nelly sank into a seat and closed her eyes. Cicely's talk--why did she
call Marsworth 'Herbert'?--was almost unbearable to her. _She_ knew
through every vein that she was going across the Channel--to see George
die. If only she were in time!--if only she might hold him in her arms
once more! Would the train never go?

Farrell, in spite of snow and storm, pushed his way