“If I’d known it would have this effect on you, I’d never have written the article,” Ruth told her when Mary still hadn’t made a move to open the gate. “Really. I don’t know why I did. I stupidly wanted to try to get your mind around to the fact there are bigger problems than ours.”

After a minute, Mary blinked and seemed to become aware of where she was. The smile she placed upon her face was distinctly forced, though her voice was warm enough. “It’s all right. It has helped to put things into perspective.” Her smile became a little more natural. “I’ll try to stop bothering you so much.” She took her hand off the gate and linked an arm with Ruth again, and the two set off once more toward the cottage. “I can’t help it,” Mary blurted out as the two of them stopped before Ruth’s front door. “I think I love him!”

Neither of them noticed who was waiting in the shadows for them.

As Ruth took out her front door key, a telegraph boy, one of those unfortunately nicknamed “the angels of death,” stepped out and handed her a telegram. All the blood drained from her face, and she fell to the ground in a dead faint.