CHAPTER XII
As Gaza de Lure entered the house in which she roomed, her landlady came hastily from the living room.
“Is that you, Miss Burke?” she asked. “Here is a telegram that came for you just a few minutes ago. I do hope it’s not bad news!”
The girl took the yellow envelope and tore it open. She read the message through very quickly and then again slowly, her brows puckered into a little frown, as if she could not quite understand the meaning of the words she read.
“Your mother ill,” the telegram said. “Possibly not serious—doctor thinks best you come—will meet you morning train.” It was signed “Custer Pennington.”
“I do hope it’s not bad news,” repeated the landlady.
“My mother is ill. They have sent for me,” said the girl. “I wonder if you would be good enough to call up the S. P. and ask the first train I can get that stops at Ganado, while I run upstairs and pack my bag?”
“You poor little dear!” exclaimed the landlady. “I’m so sorry! I’ll call right away, and then I’ll come up and help you.”
A few minutes later she came up to say that the first train left at nine o’clock in the morning. She offered to help pack; but the girl said there was nothing that she could not do herself.
“I must go out first for a few minutes,” Gaza told her. “Then I will come back and finish packing the few things that it will be necessary to take.”