“Is Mr Reed here, sir?” came from the garden.
“My clerk—Robson, from the mine,” said Reed, rather excitedly. “Whatever brings him here?”
“Your man, my dear boy,” said the Major, entering. “He has brought you a despatch.”
“It must be important,” said Reed quickly; and he passed his hand across his forehead. “I was half afraid there was some accident. Come in, Robson,” he continued, as he stepped into the little passage. “What is it?”
“A telegram, sir, from London. The postmaster sent it over at once by special messenger.”
Reed took the missive and went back into the little drawing-room, where Dinah stood pale and anxious, while the Major sat writing his letter there.
“Come, little wifie to be,” whispered Reed tenderly, “I have no secrets from you. This cannot be business, and you must share my troubles as well as joys.”
The Major glanced at them with a sigh full of regrets for the past, and smiled sadly as he saw his child pass her arm through Reed’s, and lean on him while he opened the envelope, and held it so that she could peruse the telegram at the same time. It was very brief:—
“For heaven’s sake, come at once and help me. I am half mad.—Praed.”
Dinah looked up in her lover’s anxious face, as it clouded over, her own full of eagerness and sympathy.