“Dreadful! But rely on me, Mr. Howard. I shall remain here and take charge of things, till her sister arrives.”
“Mrs. Barton has been sent for?” he asked, quickly.
“We suppose so. But, in the excitement, it is possible no one has thought of it.”
He appeared to think rapidly.
“It should be done at once. I hardly know how. It will have to be by telegraph in some way—because Mrs. Barton’s mother has no telephone. Of course old Ruggle, of the telegraph office, is in bed, and the office closed. The office in Poplars Vale will be closed too....” He mused awhile. “Someone will have to get Ruggle up, and make him telegraph to the station agent at Trenton Waters, to send a man over to Poplars Vale, on horseback. Whom can we ask to wake Ruggle?”
“Oh, Mabel will go!” Corinne said. “She’ll be sitting up all dressed. She wanted to come, but Mamma wouldn’t let her.” She ran to the door of the anteroom, where was the instrument which afflicted His Friggets. “I’ll ’phone her.” She closed the door, so that the bell should not be heard.
“If Mrs. Lee had a telephone, I’d have had her here by now. But I’m certainly not going all that dark way to the cottage,” Mrs. Witherby remarked, seating herself again. Howard had followed Corinne to the door to impress on her the details of the message she was to telephone. In returning, he arrived at the large table and, almost immediately, discovered the supper-tray.
“I see you have had something to eat,” he said. “That was wise. You’ll need all your strength.”
Mrs. Witherby, in great excitement, joined him at the table.
“No! I haven’t. I wonder who has been eating? Two persons evidently. How odd!”