"My gracious! I thought you were my son! Dear me, how absurd!" exclaimed the widow, releasing him.
"Let us go on to the cottage, aunt," said John Dulan, sadly.
"Yes, do. I am looking every minute for William. Oh, you can tell me, Uncle Ben—did he reach the ferry last night?"
"Yes, madam," groaned the old man.
"Why, you alarm me! Why didn't he come home, then?"
"He did try—he did try! I begged him not to—but he would! Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Why, what in Heaven's name is the matter? What has happened? Is my son ill?"
"Tell her, Mr. Dulan—tell her! I could not, to save my life!"
The widow turned very pale.
"Where is William? Where is my son? Is he ill? Is he ill?"