"Bill is worse," she told herself, as with trembling hands she rang up first the stables, and then the doctor.
The doctor would go; she would call for him at once.
Before she turned away, her father opened the door.
On his face she saw the tragedy she awaited.
"Montague is drowned!" he cried. "My God!" for Frances had gone down in a heap on the hall floor, the receiver swinging from side to side where she wrenched it as she fell. "Susan! Roxie! bring me some water!"
"No!" Frances was struggling upright, "let me go, father! I don't want anything!" to Roxie; "go on!" she waved her back to the kitchen impatiently. "How did you hear?" she whispered as the scared darkey shut the door behind her.
"His horse was found this morning, dripping, spent, riderless." The professor was white as his daughter. "I—I must telegraph his father!"
"Don't!" pleaded Frances, "don't; he might be safe yet somewhere!"
The professor cut her short with a motion of his hand. "If he were, don't you suppose we'd know! And he left my house!" he said bitterly.