They reached the Winthrop home a few hours before Mrs. Van Rensselaer's letter arrived.
It was Betty who brought the strange, scrawled letter to Charles, and she wore an anxious look. She had half-hesitated whether she would not keep it till morning, he looked so tired and worn. These were troublous times, and no one knew at night but that his dearest friend might be dead by morning. Betty would have spared her brother if she had dared.
Charles noticed the postmark, and tore the envelope open quickly, some premonition quickening his heart-beats.
"Dawn is here!"
He read the significant words, then repeated them aloud, his voice containing a solemn ring of wonder and joy. Could it be true?
"Betty, tell the boy to saddle two horses and have them ready at once. Dan, you'll go with me, of course.... No, I've no time for supper.... Well, just a cup of hot broth. Or, stay, put some in a bottle, and I'll take it with me. I might need it on the way.... Are you ready, Dan? ... Tell father, Betty. I'll be downstairs in just a minute."
They were off almost immediately, for the willing servant had hastened with the horses, and had ready a lantern for their use when the moon should go down. Betty handed each of them a bottle of hot broth tightly sealed, to put in their pockets. They rode through the night, silent for the most part, each gravely apprehensive of what might be at the end of the journey. It was a strange, abrupt message Charles had received, and he pondered over and over what its purport might be. Was Dawn sick, or dead? Why had not Mrs. Van Rensselaer told him more? Perhaps before he could reach his wife she would be gone again, as before. With this thought, he hurried his horse. Once he caught a glimpse of a sharp abyss within a few feet of where he passed. One misstep and the journey would have ended. Charles marvelled how he was going through unknown dangers without a thought, just because his heart was full of a great purpose.
It was in the early morning that they reached the village where the Van Rensselaers lived.
Rags was tired and splashed with mud. His tail dragged wearily behind him, his head drooped, and his tongue hung out. He wasn't used to being up all night, nor to travelling on foot behind fast horses. He thought his companions must be crazy to come away off here where there was no scent. How could they expect to know what they were doing in the night? Rags wanted a good juicy bone, and a rug in a quiet place.
As the two young men turned their horses in at the great gate, the sound of the hoofs clattered hollowly and echoed back in the empty place.