Mr. Frost had not died of disease. He was cut off in the full vigor of life, the victim of a railroad accident. Robert remembered well when he was taken home, mangled and hardly to be recognized.
His death did not entail any privation upon his little family—Robert was the only child—for he left a considerable fortune and was heavily insured besides, so that they were still able to live in handsome style.
"When will supper be ready, Jane?" Robert asked of the servant, as he passed into the dining-room.
"At half-past five o'clock, Master Robert."
"All right, Jane. I will be on hand, and with a good appetite."
He put on his hat, after laying down his books, and was about to go out, when Jane arrested his steps.
"Wait a minute, Master Robert. There's a telegram for you."
He took the yellow envelope in some surprise.
"When was it left?" he asked.
"Half an hour since."