"GRAHAM."
"You know the person?"
"Yes, very well."
"As we have not his address, would you kindly answer the despatch and tell him?"
"Surely."
"It would be a great favor."
"It is the last but one that I can ever do for her now."
He found his way to the telegraph office, he never knew how, and with trembling hand penned this message, which should fly swifter than west wind or shifting water, to John Graham on the far golden shore, where the tide was at the flood, and the earth glad and green in the promise of the new-born year:--
"Millicent died last night."
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.