"Why are you here?" asked Mrs. Carruthers, who had sat up in bed, and was now looking at the old woman, with a face which had no more trace of colour than the pillow from which it had just been raised. "Tell me, Ellen; do not keep me in suspense. Is anything wrong about George? It must concern him, whatever it is."
"My dear," began Mrs. Brookes--and now she held the slender fingers tightly in her withered palm--"I fear there is something very wrong with George."
"Is he--is he dead?" asked the mother, in a faint voice.
"No, no; he is well and safe, and far away from this, I hope and trust."
Mrs. Carruthers made no answer, but she gazed at her old friend with irresistible, pitiful entreaty. Mrs. Brookes answered the dumb appeal.
"Yes, my dear, I'll tell you all. I must, for his sake. Do you know what was the business that brought that strange gentleman here, he that went out with master, and dined here last night? No, you don't. I thought not. Thank God, you have got no hint of it from any one but me."
"Go on, go on," said Mrs. Carruthers, in a yet fainter voice.
"Do you remember, when George was here in February, you gave him money to buy a coat?"
"Yes," Mrs. Carruthers rather sighed than said.
"He bought one at Evans's, and he was remarked by the old man, who would know him again if he saw him. The business on which the strange gentleman came to master was to get him to help, as a magistrate, in finding the person who bought that coat at Evans's, Amherst."