"I am a servant in the house where she was taken ill."
"Then she is not at home?"
"No, sir, she is in Second Avenue."
"I am very sorry," I began, "but I have not the time—"
But he interrupted eagerly: "There is a carriage at the door; we thought you might not have your phaeton ready."
I had noticed the carriage.
"Very well," said I. "I will go, but first let me write a line—"
"O sir," the man broke in pleadingly, "do not wait for anything. She is really very bad, and I heard her calling for you as I ran out of the house."
"She had her voice then?" I ventured, somewhat distrustful of the whole thing and yet not knowing how to refuse the man, especially as it was absolutely necessary for me to see Mrs. Warner that night and get her consent to my departure before I could think of making further plans.
So, leaving word for Richter to be sure and wait for me if he came home before I did, I signified to Mrs. Warner's messenger that I was ready to go with him, and immediately took a seat in the carriage which had been provided for me. The man at once jumped up on the box beside the driver, and before I could close the carriage door we were off, riding rapidly down Seventh Avenue.