"I shall go with you," was her only answer.
An hour later, with a horse and light buggy, procured from a neighbor, they drove out into the warm, sweet June night. At Chardon, they paused for half an hour, to breathe the horse, and went on. Bart was a good horseman, from loving and knowing horses, and drove with skill and judgment. They talked little on the road, and at about two in the morning they drove up to the old American House in Painesville, and, with his mother on his arm, Barton started out on River Street, to the residence of Mr. Hitchcock.
How silent the streets! and how ghostly the white houses stood, in the stillness of the night! and how like a dream it all seemed! They had no difficulty in finding the house, with its ominous lights, that had all night long burned out dim into the darkness.
The door was open, and the bell brought a sweet, matronly woman to receive them.
"We are Henry Ridgeley's mother and brother," said Barton. "Is he still alive?"
The question indicated his utter hopelessness of his brother's condition.
"Come in this way, into the parlor," said the lady; and stepping out, "Mother," she called, "Mr. Ridgeley's mother has come. Please step this way."
A moment later, a tall, elderly lady, sad-faced as was her daughter, and much agitated, entered the room.
"My mother," said the younger lady. "I am Mrs. Hitchcock."
"Your son—" said the elder lady.