A plainly attired man with white hair and a black mustache was walking away from the railroad depot with a handsome boy of seventeen, clad in the natty blue uniform of a military academy.
“Alfred Milburn,” the boy was saying pleadingly, “do not keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me why you wrote me to come to Boston to-night from my school. What serious news have you to tell me?”
“You must prepare yourself for a great affliction, Walter Grey,” the man replied. “I hate to break bad news, but——”
“Great heavens!” exclaimed young Grey, suddenly—“my mother——”
“She suddenly became insane, and I have had to place her in a private asylum,” said Alfred Milburn, in low, gentle tones.
A stifled cry of woe escaped the boy, and he burst into tears, for his mother was the only relative he had in the world.
He paused and glanced piteously at the lawyer, who had been acting as administrator of the fortune his father had left, and saw that Milburn was very pale and greatly agitated.
As soon as Walter could master his grief, he asked, tremulously:
“When did this horrible misfortune occur, sir?”
“Just a week ago, my boy. I am very sorry for you. Brace up! She may recover her reason. I will take you to see her to-night.”