I did not faint; by a mighty effort I kept myself from screaming wildly, then all the blood seemed to rush up to my head, and I should have fallen had not Polly supported me, and sprinkled some water in my face and moistened my lips with it. Then the quiet tears of joy and thankfulness came to my relief, and I was able to hang round Polly's neck and kiss her and cry with her for a little time, till I was composed enough to kneel down at the sofa, and to thank God for this His great and unexpected mercy to me. When I rose from my knees, I felt more myself again, but I was still dazed and giddy with my great joy. I could hardly even now believe that it was true, and that Percy whom I had mourned as dead so long was yet alive—would yet come home again; it seemed too great a happiness to be true, and yet I could not doubt, for there was the paragraph in the Indian telegram, before my eyes, to assure me that it was so.
"Two officers, Major Payne, 105th regiment, and Lieutenant Desborough, 25th Lancers, were found concealed by friendly natives in the district of Jemundar, by the flying column under Colonel Heaviside."
There could be no mistake or doubt about it. Percy was saved. I need not say what my feelings were; they were too deep for me to express then, and are far too deep for me to write of now. Polly was so pleased, too, not only at the news itself, but also because I had borne it better than she had been afraid I should have done. When we became composed at last, Polly made me sit in the easy chair, while she drew a stool up and took her old position upon it by my side, and we talked long and thankfully of my changed life and restored happiness.
At last I said, "Do you know, Polly, I could not think what you had to tell me. I saw you had something on your mind, that you were anxious and absent, and that your visit had some purpose more than you pretended,—and yet, as you assured me that all I cared for were well, I could not conceive what it could be. Did you see it in the paper before Charley started to business?"
"I did, Agnes, and we had quite a scene, I can assure you. I will tell you all about it. You know, Agnes, we always breakfast at a quarter past eight, and Charley goes up by the nine o'clock train, that gives him plenty of time, and he hates being hurried. The newspaper comes a few minutes past eight, and Charley always looks at the money article the first thing, before we begin, for I won't let him read at breakfast; as I tell him, he has all day for business, and he can study his paper as he goes up in the train, so I insist on his giving up his breakfast-time to me. Well, my dear, he had just sat down to the table, and had opened the paper quite wide to look at his City article; I was standing up, waiting for the coffee to be brought up, when I noticed on the part of the paper turned towards me, the Indian telegrams—they are always in large print, you know—so I could read them easily as I stood, and I glanced down them till I came to the one about Percy; without a word I snatched the paper out of Charley's hand to read it closely, and then I saw that I was not mistaken, and that it was indeed he. I am not quite clear what I did—something extravagant, I daresay. I think I kissed Charley violently, and then, for the first time in my life, went into a sort of hysterics. The first thing I distinctly remember is, that my dear old Charley was trying to calm me. He was evidently in the greatest alarm, and had not the least idea what was the matter, or what ought to be done, and I believe he thought I had gone suddenly out of my mind. He was evidently afraid to touch me lest it should make me more violent, but was going on,—'Now, my dear Polly!—Oh, I say, now, Polly!—It is all right, Polly; it is, indeed!—For God's sake, try and compose yourself!' and he looked so dreadfully frightened, and his dear red old cheeks were so pale, that with another wild fit of laughing, which I could not help, I threw my arms round his neck and kissed him; frightening him more than ever, for he evidently thought my madness had taken a fresh turn.
"'It is all right, Charley,' I said, as soon as I could speak at all. "'I am only so pleased.'
"'Oh, you are?' Charley said, still thinking I was out of my mind; 'that is right, my dear—you are quite right to be pleased, but try and quiet yourself. It is very jolly, no doubt, and I quite agree with you; but there now, dear, don't laugh any more like that—for, upon my soul, you frighten me horribly!'
"'I am better now, Charley,' I said. 'Get me a little cold water.'
"Just at this moment the servant came in with the breakfast, and Charley rushed up to her, snatched the coffee-pot from her, and shouted out at the top of his voice,—'Some cold water,—quick, quick!' frightening the servant nearly as much as I alarmed him; he then ran back to the table, burning himself terribly from the way he had taken the coffee-pot in his hands, and then swearing to himself—which he only does on very rare occasions now—dreadfully. It nearly set me off again; however, the girl now came back with some water, and when I had drank a little I began to recover myself.
"'Do you know what it was that gave me so much pleasure, Charley?'
"'Not in the least, my dear; but never mind telling me now. I dare say it was very clever; but you can tell me presently. I shan't go up to town to-day.'
"'It was something I read in the paper, Charley.'
"'Oh, it was!' he said, doubtfully, evidently not believing me in the least, but considering that I was still wandering in my mind.
"'Yes, Charley, only think, Percy Desborough, who was engaged to Agnes——'
"'Yes, my dear, I know; the man who was killed at Lucknow a year ago.'
"'He is not dead after all, Charley.'
"'No, I dare say not,' Charley said, soothingly; 'I should not be at all surprised. I never thought he was myself; but don't mind him now. Lay down, my dear, and try and compose yourself.'
"'You silly old goose,' I said, 'look in the paper yourself.'
"Charley, evidently to humour me, turned to the paper; but he still watched me closely, in case I should be going to do anything fresh. When he saw that it was really as I said, he was quite delighted; at first principally for my sake, as he now began to see that after all, I had only had a fit of hysterics from my sudden delight, and was not out of my mind after all: that fear once removed, he was truly pleased at the news for your sake. Presently I said,—
"'Oh, Charley, only think of Agnes; if she reads it in the papers, the sudden shock will kill her.'
"'By Jove!' Charley said, 'so it might. What is to be done?'
"'May I run down and tell her?' I asked. 'She does not see the Times the first day, and no one in Canterbury knows that she is engaged to him; every one supposed it was broken off years ago, so no one is likely to go in to tell her the first thing."
"'Of course you may, Polly, if you like; and, look here! I think I will go down with you, for you have frightened me so confoundedly that I shall be fit for nothing to-day in the City, and as to-morrow is Saturday, I will go down with you and bring you back on Monday morning.'
"We looked in a Bradshaw, and found there was an eleven o'clock train down here; so he went up to town directly after breakfast, to say he should be away till Monday; I went up rather later, and he met me at the London Bridge Station in time to catch the train."
"Then where is Charley?" I asked, when Polly had finished her story.
"I sent him on to Ramsgate. I told him that I should have to take some time to break it to you; and that then we should want to be alone; so that, as altogether he would be dreadfully in the way, his best plan was to go on to Ramsgate, and out for a sail, and to have dinner there; and that he could come back here about seven o'clock. I mean to sleep here, as I said, Agnes; but Charley will go to an hotel. He will like that much better, as then he can smoke and do as he likes."
I was now quite myself again, and Polly had evidently made her story as long as she could, to allow me to recover myself, and to divert my thoughts a little from my great joy.
Mrs. Mapleside now came in, and was very surprised and glad to see Polly. We confided to her, under promise of strict secrecy, the good news Polly had come down to bring; a promise which the dear old lady did not keep, for she was so delighted and full of it, that I really do not believe she could have kept it to herself had her life depended upon it. So she informed—also in the