"And sure nuff, Massa Alden, he hands me this yer," said Jerome, pointing to Alden's own telegram. "And here's you too! Now, what anybody think ob dat if it a'n't witchcraf'?"
"It is a coincidence, my good fellow. I was coming down, and I telegraphed Miss Cavendish to that effect. When you brought her message to the office you received mine, which must have been delayed. It is a coincidence."
"Well I s'pose a coimperence is a fine book-larnin' name for witchcraf'; but it's all the same thing after all," persisted Jerome.
"I hope they are all well at Blue Cliffs," said Mr. Lytton, who felt some little uneasiness connected with Emma's telegram.
"Yes, sar, dey's all purty well, 'cept 'tis de ole madam. She a'n't been that hearty as she ought to 'a' been."
"I hope she is not seriously ill."
"No, sar; dough I did leave a message long o' Doctor Willet to come out dere dis morning; but you know de ole madam do frequent send for de doctor."
"Come, Jerome, we must get on to the Hall," said Mr. Lytton, as he rode out of the inn yard and turned into the road leading to Blue Cliffs, followed by the servant.
Emma Cavendish, who was on the lookout for Jerome, was surprised and delighted to see her lover ride up first, attended by her messenger.
"It's witchcraf', Miss Emmer!" exclaimed Jerome, as he got out of his saddle to take the young gentleman's horse.