“Forty-seven minutes, my revered chief!” he exclaimed, as he approached, waving a missive in his hand. “See what it is to have some one amongst your bodyguard who can perform miracles!”
“What have you brought?” Jacob asked.
“A cable! Dauncey thought I had better bring it down.”
Jacob read it, and read it over again. It was a dispatch from New York, handed in that morning:
Regret to say your brother seriously ill. Should be deeply grateful if you would expedite your proposed visit. Am urgently in need of advice and help. Please come Saturday’s steamer if possible.
Sydney Morse, Secretary.
Jacob folded up the dispatch and placed it in his breast pocket. Then he suddenly remembered the girl.
“Felix,” he said, “let me present you to Miss Haslem. Lord Felixstowe—Miss Haslem.”
The two young people exchanged the customary greetings. The girl began to apologise for her hair. Her cup of happiness was very nearly filled. And then Jacob dashed it to the ground.
“I want you to take me back to town as soon as you’ve had a drink,” he intervened, addressing the young man. “We sail for America to-morrow.”