"Where?"
"At the ferryman's cottage. Will you, Uncle Fabian, as soon as you have an opportunity, say that I am deeply grieved for all that has estranged us. Will you ask him to forgive me and let me come to him?"
"Yes; I will do so, my dear, if there is an opportunity. But, Cora, I think you are morbidly scrupulous. I think that you should come to the house. He may wish to see you if he should have a lucid interval, and there may not be time to send for you."
"I must risk that rather than disobey him in his extremity."
"As you will," replied Mr. Fabian. And no more was said on the subject.
When they reached the foot of the mountain and the level of the river road, the horses were put upon their speed, and they soon arrived at Rockhold.
"I will wait in the carriage until you go in and inquire how he is," said Corona, as the vehicle drew up before the front door.
Mr. Fabian got out and hurried up the steps. The door stood open, cold as the day was, and all things wore the neglected aspect of a dwelling wherein the master lay stricken unto death. The housekeeper, Martha, was coming down the stairs and crying.
"How is your master?" breathlessly inquired Mr. Fabian.
"Oh, Marse Fabe, sir, jes' livin', an' dat's all!" sobbed the woman. "Dunno nuffin. Layin' dere jes' like a dead corpe, 'cept for breavin' hard," wept the woman.