“Your horse! Your horse, doctor! Can I have your horse to-night?”
“‘A horse! A horse! my kingdom for a horse!’ Why, what the deuce is the matter now? Who’s killed? Who’s wounded?”
“Oh, doctor, no jesting. This is serious—this is terrible. Only—quick!—can I have your horse?”
“Certainly, certainly, Hugh. But tell me, in one word, what’s the matter?”
“My mother, my long-lost mother, is found, and at Mount Calm, but ill and dying, I fear. There! read Nettie’s letter, while I saddle the horse. I must ride at once to the village—the mail stage starts from there at ten o’clock. I must go in it,” said Hugh, hastening out.
Mrs. Garnet and Elsie gathered around Dr. Hardcastle, while he read the following letter:
“Mount Calm, March 1, 18—.
“Dearest Hugh: Wherever you are, and whatever may be your engagements, drop them at once, and hasten to Mount Calm. Your long-lost mother is found—she is here with me, but very, very ill of brain fever. Hasten. There are other things, too, dear Hugh, of which I cannot write now, but of which you will hear when you come. I write in haste and agitation, but, indeed, I am, as much as ever,
“Your affectionate sister,
“Nettie.”