Mr Prescott, who had dismounted from a bicycle,
called to Nutty and waved something in the air. To a stranger the
performance would have been obscure, but Elizabeth understood it.
Mr Prescott was intimating that he had been down to the post-office
for his own letters and, as was his neighbourly custom on these
occasions, had brought back also letters for Flack's.
Nutty foregathered with Mr Prescott and took the letters from him.
Mr Prescott disappeared. Nutty selected one of the letters and
opened it. Then, having stood perfectly still for some moments, he
suddenly turned and began to run towards the house.
The mere fact that her brother, whose usual mode of progression
was a languid saunter, should be actually running, was enough to
tell Elizabeth that the letter which Nutty had read was from the
London lawyers. No other communication could have galvanized him
into such energy. Whether the contents of the letter were good or
bad it was impossible at that distance to say. But when she
reached the open air, just as Nutty charged up, she saw by his
face that it was anguish not joy that had spurred him on. He was
gasping and he bubbled unintelligible words. His little eyes
gleamed wildly.
'Nutty, darling, what is it?' cried Elizabeth, every maternal
instinct in her aroused.
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