CHAPTER IX.
The next morning Henry Hindes received a scrawl, in a hand which he could not recognise as that of Mr Crampton’s, containing but three words, ‘Come to me.’
He guessed at once what they meant. He had just returned from church with his wife and elder children. He had not dared to refuse to go, for he was a regular attendant there, and the omission would have looked peculiar. So he had stood and knelt and sat through a service of two mortal hours, whilst his eyes gazed into space and his mind was a blank, and he only followed mechanically what the others said or did.
He walked home with Hannah on his arm and Elsie and Laurie trotting before them, for the Hindes were far too strict a family to have out their horses on a Sunday, but all the while that acquaintances were bowing and smiling and exchanging civilities with himself and his wife, he was wondering how soon the news would reach Hampstead, and if it would come by telegraph or post, or if Walcheren would send a special messenger to break it to the old people at ‘The Cedars.’ And as soon as he re-entered his own house, the note was handed to him with the fatal words ‘Come to me!’ He knew then that the worst was known—that the poor parents had been told of their bereavement, and that it was his mission to fly to comfort them.
‘What can be the matter?’ questioned Hannah. ‘Can they have already heard from Jenny, or do you think it possible she can be in Hampstead? Oh, Henry! if they meet, surely Mr Crampton cannot refuse to speak to her!’
‘I know no more than you do,’ he answered, ‘but I suppose I must go! The old man may have been taken ill. He looked bad enough for anything yesterday evening.’
‘Oh! certainly, Henry dear, you must go at once, and you can take your luncheon with them. But I shall be impatient to hear what he wants you for. If Jenny should be there—oh, Henry, you will let me know, won’t you? for I should love to give the dear girl a kiss, and assure her of my faithful friendship. You will send someone over to tell me, in that case, won’t you, dearest?’
‘Yes, yes; of course I will,’ he answered, quickly, ‘but there is no likelihood of such a thing. Good-bye, I had better be off at once.’
And so he left her. The scene he encountered at ‘The Cedars’ is easier imagined than described. Mr Crampton received him in his library, in the presence of his wife, and sister-in-law, and Dr M‘Coll. The old man looked as if he had suddenly crumpled up. His features were drawn and shrivelled, and his complexion the colour of parchment. His wife was laid face downwards on a couch at the further end of the room, stupefied with the shock of the news they had just heard, whilst Miss Bostock sat by her, silent and motionless, with her hands hanging passively on her lap. No one stirred except the doctor, as Henry Hindes, white and trembling, but with the assumption of being at his ease, entered the room.
‘Well, my dear friend,’ he commenced cheerily, ‘what is it?’