"Can Mark be seriously ill?" said Betty.
Mrs. Corrance's clear eyes lingered for a moment on Betty's flushed cheeks; then she said tranquilly: "It is not impossible. If so, I don't blame him for going to Scotland."
"He ought to be at Pitt Hall," said Betty. "I think I shall take a brisk walk."
Two days later Betty met the Squire in Westchester. She soon discovered that he was hurt because his son had not come home.
"Perhaps he was anxious to spare you—and others. That would be like him."
"Yes, yes; he's the best boy in the world. But I'm sure there's nothing serious the matter. We Samphires are as hard as nails."
"If he—died up there without making a sign."
The Squire stuttered and choked.
"God bless me! you alarm me. I must write at once. I shall insist on his coming home. Has he taken you into his confidence, my dear?"
"No."