WHITEWASH
scious of the inevitable talk below-stairs, occasioned by yesterday's storm. The woman presented the silver tray on which lay her mistress's morning mail. Philippa collected it quickly and nodded dismissal. She had hoped for a word from Valdeck. There was only a wedding-card, a note from the dressmaker, and a plain envelope with a typewritten address, that she left to the last, thinking it an advertisement or a bill. Its contents, however, stopped her heart and then set it going violently.
A few lines in the well-known handwriting:
"My beloved Lady Philippa: One last service I beg of you. Go to the Germanic, which sails to-morrow, Wednesday, at two. Give the box to a lady who will meet you there in State room 148. She will wear a tan ulster with blue velvet collar and hold a bunch of carnations. Address her in French as Madame Tollé. I am watched too carefully to trust putting in an appearance; but I trust you even as I would myself. God reward you, my beloved, my own, for your goodness to me and a just and noble cause."
