She opened the door, and found a telegraph-messenger with a message for her brother. He ran away shivering in the cold air as soon as she had signed the receipt.
Mrs. Flint turned it over in her shaking fingers, soliloquizing:
“From Washington—to tell us of course that they’re married! Oh, dear, what a time!” and she hurried to her brother’s room.
To her surprise, she found him up and dressed, putting the finishing touches to his toilet. The tears rushed to her eyes at the sight of his haggard, miserable face.
“Rebecca, I was fooled last night. Arthur Varian gave me that tramp he had picked up in the road for my own child, and I let him deceive me. But I shall go on their tracks at once,” he said weakly.
For answer she held out the telegram.
He snatched it with a cry of anguish, and quickly mastered the contents.
His face changed marvelously, and he exclaimed hoarsely:
“Thank God!” and tossed her the telegram. She read:
“Cinthia is here safe with me, and not married. Please come at once and take her home.