"Is it possible to ride a horse to Swiftsbridge across the Langside moss and through the ford in time to bring out the doctor by the last train?"
"No, sir," was the answer. "The moor track's under water, the ford just roaring full, and I'm thinking that to swim the Swift to-night is impossible."
"I think he is right," Maxwell said; "though I fancy I could have done it twenty years ago."
"Then you can drive!" Chatterton said harshly to the groom. "It's a little over forty miles there and back by road. Get a fresh horse at the bridge; but if you value your place don't come back without the doctor!"
Chatterton walked to the window and flung the curtains behind him; then he returned with brows contracted farther.
"The moor is white all over, and the air thick with sleet," he said. "It will take that fellow all his time to bring the doctor here by to-morrow."
A maid, appearing, laid a telegraphic envelope on the table, and Chatterton tore it open.
"At last! I always thought the man was incapable. Listen to this!
"Difficult to communicate by ocean cable except at heavy cost, but surmise from message received that our coast agent credits published account. His cable just received reads, as deciphered by our code: Yes. Consider prospects discouraging. Do not look for improvement. Think we could confirm."
Chatterton whipped out a pencil and, scribbling across the foot of the message, handed it to Maxwell.