"I hope all is well with you—and him! You look sad."
"I have reason to be, Miss Dearborn. My poor son is very sick. I do not know if he will live."
Grace could not account for the effect of these words, or for the thrill of emotion which agitated her, for she had not read the secret of her own heart.
"How long has this been?" she asked, hurriedly.
"For a week only. Frederic seems to be suffering from a slow fever, and the physician tells me that the chief difficulty in the way of recovery is the mental depression which weighs him down."
"Has he not been prospering? Is he in pecuniary trouble?"
"No; he has been unusually prosperous, and has on hand more orders than he could attend to if he were in health."
"Have you any knowledge of any other cause for his depression?"
"Yes, Miss Dearborn; I know it only too well. It is for this I came here to see you."
"Name it. If there is anything I can do——"