"Good-by, Cora, until to-night," hurried out of the front door.
He need not have been in such haste—the Iron King was not destined to reach North End in advance of his sons that morning.
Mr. Clarence kissed Corona good-by, and hurried after his elder brother, and then stopped short at what he saw.
Mr. Fabian was standing before the carriage door with one foot on the step.
Beside him was a horseman who had just ridden up—the horse in a lather of foam, the man breathless and dazed—telling some news in broken sentences; Mr. Fabian listening pallid and aghast.
"Great Heaven! how sudden! how shocking!" he exclaimed at last, turning back toward the house, and hurrying up the steps.
"What is it? What is the matter? What has happened, Fabian?" anxiously demanded Clarence.
"The father has had a stroke! No time for particulars now! Take the fastest horse in the stable and go yourself to North End to fetch the doctor. You can bring him sooner than any servant. I must go directly on to Rockhold. Cora must delay her journey again. Be off, Clarence!" said Mr. Fabian.
And while the elder brother returned to the house, the younger went to get his horse.
"Cora!" called Mr. Fabian.