“Ebenezer Wilson.”
“Why, why was not this letter given me last night?” exclaimed Dr. Hardcastle, in strong excitement.
“Because, sir, the mail did not get in until an hour after you had gone to bed.”
“Have you any description of carriage here, lighter than my wagon? We must set off instantly, on our return to Huttontown.”
“I hope there’s no bad news, sir?”
“Yes—my wife’s mother died yesterday.”
“Good Heaven, sir; was the poor lady sick when you left?”
“No, no—it was unexpected—quite suddenly; we left her in perfect health. Is there any vehicle I can procure?”
“Why, sir—dear me, this is very shocking; I am very sorry to hear it. Yes, there’s Mrs. Barber—her old carryall.”
“Have my mules put to it on the instant,” said Magnus; and pale with trouble, he went into the little breakfast parlor where Elsie sat at the head of the breakfast table awaiting. His grave demeanor, his troubled face, and the open letter with the broken black seal, alarmed her. Starting up in haste, she rushed to his side. He threw his arms around her, and placed the letter in her hand.