Ten long days, including the quietest Christmas ever spent in Bonnie Doon, and then on the second day of the New Year—“A letter for you, Miss Jean, from the Thatched House.” Elsie’s dour face softened as the girl eagerly tore open the envelope.
My dearest Love,
I find I can’t come to-night as I had hoped to do, but I will be with you early to-morrow morning.
Always your
Harry.
Jean remembered that a telegram had come for her uncle a few moments ago. Now telegrams were always being delivered at Bonnie Doon, but some secret instinct now seemed to tell her that this time the telegram had had something to do with her lover and his affairs.
She walked into the doctor’s study, and when he saw who it was, he opened the top drawer of the writing table at which he was sitting, and slipped something into it.
“Well?” he said, looking up, “Well, my dear, what d’you want?”
She came close up to the table, and he was dismayed to see how sad and suffering was the expression on her young face.
“Uncle Jock,” she said in a low voice, “Harry has just sent me word that he can’t come this evening. I suppose——” and then she stopped short; somehow she could not bring herself to say the horrible words. But at last she whispered: “I suppose they are going to dig up poor Mrs. Garlett’s coffin to-night?”