"He will telegraph. I shall hear from him. O God! the hours I must wait; my boy! my boy!"
It was nature's irrepressible cry. Black pressed his hand and went out with the telegram.
BOOK III
THE DOOR OF MYSTERY
XXVII
HE MUST BE FOUND
Three hours later, an agitated confab took place at the gate, or rather between the two front gates. Mr. Black had rung for admittance, and Mrs. Scoville had answered the call. In the constrained interview which followed, these words were said:
"One moment, Mrs. Scoville. How can I tell the judge! Young Ostrander is gone—flew the city, and I can get no clew to his whereabouts. Some warning of what is happening here may have reached him, or he may be simply following impulses consequent upon his personal disappointments; but the fact is just this—he asked for two weeks' leave to go West upon business,—and he's been gone three. Meanwhile, no word has come, nor can his best friends tell the place of his destination. I have been burning the telegraph wires ever since the first despatch, and this is the result."
"Poor Judge Ostrander!" Then, in lower and still more pathetic tones, "Poor Reuther!"
"Where is Reuther?"
"At Miss Weeks'. I had to command her to leave me alone with the judge. It's the first time I ever spoke unkindly to her."
"Shall I tell the judge the result of his telegram, or will you?"