knew no more than she did, perhaps less. The sun was beginning to get low and to throw long shadows; the breeze sank too.
Five o’clock. Another despatch cried, ‘Great Slaughter! All the Reserve engaged! Admiral St George making splendid Defence! The Battle continues!’
This was a damper for the most sanguine. Everyone felt the uselessness of trying to put a good face on the matter; there could be no doubt that the day was going against the brave but inadequate British force, which now for eight hours had been striving stubbornly against tremendous odds. Lesbia was seized with an impulse to ride back to Bude, but she had to get assistance to mount. Out once more in the quiet of the country again, she slackened speed to listen. The deep thunder from the west, after one awful peal, was sensibly decreasing, until, by the time she reached the villa just before dusk, she heard it no more. Somehow her spirits rose, and leaning her bicycle against the wall, she limped to the party still on the terrace, saying,—
‘It’s over—God knows with what result, I fear a disastrous one. But I'll have something to eat now, if I may; I’ve fasted long enough, and I can do them no good, poor fellows!’
‘Dinner ’ll be ready in two or three minutes,’ said Mrs Whyte; ‘you'll barely have time to house your bike, and wash your hands. I ordered it rather early, because none of us could eat any lunch.’
‘Oh, very well; and, Mrs Whyte, I hope you won’t scold me because I have wired home to say that I start to-morrow, as originally planned. I’ve enjoyed a long visit to you now, and I know my mother will be wanting me.’
‘I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed your visit, and I hope it won’t be your last, dear,’ she replied. ‘Well, I can quite
