“Why, ’twas a message we got, to be sure.”
“Then the postoffice authorities sent a letter here?” asked Ned, somewhat relieved to find he would not have to break to his aunt what he believed would be terrible news.
“No, dear,” Mrs. Kenfield called down from the head of the stairs. “It wasn’t a letter from the postoffice, it was a telegram. I have received bad news.”
“Oh, aunt, it wasn’t my fault at all!” burst out Ned. “I didn’t know about it, or I’d never have come to New York.”
“Of course it isn’t your fault,” his aunt said. “How could you know about it when I only got the telegram myself a little while ago? As for your coming to New York, that couldn’t be helped. Of course it’s too bad. But you can pay me another visit.”
Ned thought she meant he must hurry away to escape arrest.
“Are you almost packed up, Mrs. Kenfield?” asked Mary.
“Yes, almost. I shall want a little help. I must go at once.”
“Why—what—are you—I don’t understand—” began Ned.
“Of course, just like women, to begin at the wrong end,” said Mrs. Kenfield, and Ned’s heart beat fast. He wondered if his aunt was going to reproach him for bringing disgrace on the family. He thought she would have to flee the city too, in order to avoid arrest. How he wished his uncle was at home to advise and help them.