"You ask her. It is, though."
"Did he send you down here?"
"I'm almighty hungry; I ain't had no breakfast, nor nothing." Whereupon Curly bolted.
Ellsworth, disturbed, went in search of Constance. He found her, a crumpled and pathetic figure. The news then had, indeed, been bad!
"Now, now, child," he began, "what's up here? You've a letter, the man tells me."
She covered it with her hand as it lay in her lap. "Is it from him, young Anderson?" he asked. She nodded.
"It's written by a friend of his," she answered presently. "He himself couldn't write. He was too—ill."
"Sent for you?" His voice was grave.
"Yes," she whispered, "when it was too late."
"We'll go," he said with decision. "Get ready. Maybe there is some mistake."