Her pulses quickened as she passed the library door in going out, though she knew Espy was not there now, for she had heard the departure of the sleighing party, and they had not returned.
Another hour had slipped away before they came, and Espy was met at the door by a telegram to the effect that his mother was lying dangerously ill, and he must hasten home without delay if he would see her alive.
Espy read it at a glance; and turning a pale, agitated countenance upon the servant, who stood waiting,
“I must be gone at once,” he said.
“Yes, sir; I expected as much, and I’ve packed your valise, sir; here it is all right—everything in it that you’d left in your room.”
“Thank you; it was very thoughtful and kind. I will have to leave my adieus to the ladies and gentlemen with you. Tell them I have been suddenly summoned home. My mother is very ill, and I shall have barely time to catch the train. Good-by.”
And dropping a dollar into the man’s hand, Espy seized the valise and rushed away in hot pursuit of a passing street-car.
Even at that moment of grief, anxiety, and haste, he remembered with a sharp pang that this sudden departure robbed him of the opportunity to obtain another interview with Floy or to learn her address.
During the two hours’ drive his thoughts had been so full of her, their late interview, and plans for securing another, that he found no little difficulty in attending to the small talk of his companions, and was more than once rallied by them upon his absence of mind.
It was the more annoying since he was the only gentleman of the party, young Lea being confined to his room that day with a severe cold.