Barbara, helping a man with a shattered ankle to hop up the steps into a house already containing two wounded Belgians, felt her shoulder touched, and looked round to find Worth behind her. He was drenched, and dishevelled; he said curtly: "I'll take him. Go home now."

"Your wife?" she said, her voice husky with fatigue.

"I've sent her home. You have done enough. Go back now."

She nodded, for she was indeed so exhausted that her head felt light, and it was an effort to move her limbs. Worth slipped his arm round the young Scot she had been supporting, and she clung to the railings for a moment to get her breath.

When she reached home she found that Judith had arrived a few moments before her, and had already gone up to strip off her wet and soiled garments. She came out of her bedroom in a wrapper as Barbara reached the top of the stairs. "Barbara!" she said. "Thank God you have come in! Oh, how wet you are! I'll send my woman to you immediately! Yours is in hysterics."

A weary smile touched Barbara's lips. "The confounded wench hasn't ceased having hysterics since the guns were first heard. Is there any news?"

"I don't think so. I've had no time to ask. But don't stand there in those wet clothes!"

"Indecent, aren't they?" said Barbara, with the ghost of a chuckle.

"Shocking, but I'm thinking of the cold you will take. I've ordered coffee to be sent up to the salon. Do hurry!"

Twenty minutes later they confronted one another across a table laid out with cakes and coffee. Judith lifted the silver pot, and found that her hand, which had been so steady, was shaking. She managed to pour out the coffee, and handed the cup to Barbara, saying: "I'm sorry. I've spilled a little in the saucer. You must be very hungry; eat one of those cakes."

Barbara took one, raised it to her mouth, and then put it down. "I don't think I can," she said in rather a strained voice. "I beg your pardon, but I feel damnably sick. Or faint - I'm not sure which."

Judith jumped up. "No, no, you are not going to faint, and if you are sick, I'll never forgive you! Wait, I'll get my smelling-salts directly!" She stopped, and said: "No. I forgot. I gave them to that boy whose ear had been shot off. He - oh God, Bab, don't, don't!" With the tears pouring down her own face she flung her arms round Barbara, who had broken into a fit of gasping sobs.

They clung together for a few moments, their torn nerves finding relief in this burst of weeping. But presently each made an effort towards self-control; the sobs were resolutely swallowed, and two noses defiantly blown.

"The devil!" Barbara said faintly. "Where's that coffee?"

They smiled mistily at each other. "We're tired," said Judith. "Crying like a couple of vapourish idiots!"

Her teeth chattered on the rim of her cup, but she gulped down a little of the coffee and felt better. Outside, the thunder still crashed and rumbled, and the rain streamed down the window-panes. The butler had lit the candles in the room, and presently, seeing how the flashes of lightning made Judith wince, Barbara got up, and drew the blinds together.

"The troops in this awful storm!" Judith said. "Will the rain never stop?"

"I wonder where they are?"

"The report this morning said that a renewal of the attack was expected."

"I am not afraid. We remained masters of the field last night, and now all the Army is concentrated there."

"Very true: we may hear of a victory at any moment now, I daresay."

They relapsed into silence. The sound of carriage wheels in the street below roused them. The carriage drew up apparently at the house, and while Judith and Barbara were still looking at each other with a sudden question in their eyes, a double knock fell on the front door. Judith found that she was trembling, and saw that Barbara was gripping the arms of her chair with clenched fingers. Neither seemed capable of moving; each was paper white, staring at the other. But in another minute the butler had opened the door and announced Miss Devenish and Mr Fisher.

Judith got up with a shudder of relief, and turned to receive these unexpected guests. Miss Devenish, who was muffled in a long cloak, ran forward, and caught both her friend's arms in a tight clasp. "Oh, have you news?" she panted. "I could bear it no longer! All yesterday and today in this terrible uncertainty! I thought you might have heard something, that Colonel Audley might have been here!"

Barbara's hands unclenched. She rose, and walked over to the window under pretext of rearranging the blinds.

"No. We have not seen Charles since he left the ball," Judith replied. "Colonel Canning was in last night, and told us then that up till five o'clock Charles was alive and unhurt. We have had no later tidings."

She disengaged one hand, and held it out to Mr Fisher, who shook it warmly, and embarked on a speech of apology for having intruded on her at such a time. She cut him short assuring him that no apology could be thought necessary, and he said, in his unpolished yet kindly way: "That's it: I told my girl here you would be glad to see her. For my part, I'm a plain Englishman, and what I say is, let the Belgians run if they will, for it won't make a ha'porth of odds to our fellows! But the silly miss has been in such a taking, covering her ears every time the cannon sounded, and jumping to the window whenever anyone passed in the street, that in the end I said to her: 'Lucy, my pet,' I said, 'rain or no rain, you'll pop on your cloak and we'll drive straight round to your good friend, Lady Worth, and see what she may be able to tell us'."

"Indeed, you did quite right. I am only sorry that I am unable to give you any news. Since hearing of the Prussian defeat, no tidings of any kind have reached us, except such scraps we might pick up from the men who have got back from the battlefield."

Lucy, who had sunk into a chair, with her hands kneading one another in her lap, raised her head, and asked in an amazed tone: "You have been out in the streets?"

"Yes, Lady Barbara and I have been doing what we could for the wounded."

Lucy shuddered. "Oh, how I admire you! I could not! The sight of the blood - the wounds - I cannot bear to think of it!"

Judith looked at her for an instant, in a kind of detached wonder. Raising her eyes, she encountered Barbara's across the room. A faint smile passed between them; in that moment of wordless understanding each was aware of the bond which, no matter what might come, could never be quite broken between them.

Mr Fisher said: "Well, I am sure you are a pair of heroines, no less! But I wonder his lordship would permit it, I do indeed! A lady's delicate sensibilities -"

"This is not a time for thinking of one's sensibilities," Judith interrupted. "But will you not be seated? I am glad to see you have not fled the town, like some of our compatriots."

He said heartily: "No need to do that, I'll be bound! Why, if the Duke can't account for Boney and all his Froggies, he's not the man I take him for, and so I tell my foolish girl here."

"Such sentiments do you credit," said Judith, with mechanical civility. She glanced at Miss Devenish, and added: "Do not be unnecessarily alarmed, Lucy. I believe we must by this time have heard had anything happened to my brother-in-law."

Miss Devenish replied in a numb voice: "Oh yes! It must be so, of course. Only I hoped he might perhaps have been sent in with a message. It is of no consequence."

Judith could not resist glancing in Barbara's .direction. She was standing back against the dark urtains, her eyes fixed on Lucy's face with an expression in them of curious intentness. Judith looked away quickly, and repeated: "I have not seen Charles since the ball."

"No." Miss Devenish looked at Barbara; a little colour crept into her cheeks; she said, stumbling over the words: "And you, Lady Barbara - I do not like to ask you - but you have heard nothing?"

"Nothing at all," Barbara replied.

"No; I quite realise - you must wonder at my asking you, but there are circumstances which -" Her voice failed entirely: indeed, her last words had been almost inaudible. She got up, flushing, and reminded her uncle that they had promised not to leave Mrs Fisher for more than half an hour.

He agreed that they must be going, and said in a rallying tone, as he shook hands with Judith: "Your ladyship will bear me out in assuring this little puss that there is no need for all this alarm. Ah, you may shake your head as much as you please, Missy, but you won't make your old uncle believe that you haven't lost that soft heart of yours to some handsome officer!"

No answer was vouchsafed; Lucy pressed Judith's hand, bowed slightly to Barbara, and hurried out of the room. Mr Fisher begged Judith not to think of accompanying them to the door, again thanked her for receiving him, became aware that the butler was holding open the door for him, and bowed himself out.

A long, painful silence fell in the salon. Barbara had parted the curtains and was looking out into the street. "It is still raining," she remarked presently.

"The thunder is less violent, I believe."

"Yes."

Judith sat down, smoothing a crease from her dress. She said, without raising her eyes from her skirt: "I do not believe he cares for her."

It was a moment before Barbara answered. She said then, in a level tone: "If he does, I have come by my deserts."

There could be no gainsaying it. Judith said with a wry smile: "I wanted him to, you know."

"Don't you still?"

"No. These days seem to have altered everything. I did not want to receive you in my house, but your strength has supported me as I would not have believed it could. Whatever happened in the past, or whatever is to happen in the future, I can never forget the comfort your presence is to me now."