"Come at once, uncle is dying and wants to give you something.—Mother."
"Send the servant with this at once."
He was very restless while the man was away, and asked three times if he had returned. At length he came back, but with bad news; the telegraph office was closed for the night.
"Well, it does not matter," said Anna, "we will send it in the morning. The master is not really so bad, it is half imagination; but he is so nervous we must not excite him, so go in and tell him the telegram is sent."
He was quieter after that, and began to reckon at what time the boy would arrive, and decided he might be there by the afternoon of the second day.
He slept quietly all night, and got up the next morning very pale and weak, but went about putting things straight and turning out drawers.
"It is unnecessary to send the telegram," thought Anna to herself. "He seems nearly himself again, and will be all right in a day or two."
The whole day he pottered about, and in the afternoon shut himself up in his study and drank a small bottle of Tokay wine, and wrote a great deal. Anna only went in once to see if he wanted anything. No, he wanted nothing.
"Have you any pain?"
"My side hurts me, just where the man with the scythe touched me. There is something wrong inside."