“Here comes Colonel Brownell,” said Phillip. The Colonel trotted up to the portico and bowed courteously, holding out a buff-coloured envelope.
“Morning, Phil; morning, Mr. North. A telegram for you, sir. Saw it in the post-office, sir, and took the liberty of fetching it along to you.”
John thanked him and took it.
“You’ll stay for dinner, Colonel?” asked Phillip.
“Thank you, Phil; not to-day. I’m on my way over to Prentiss. Good-day, good-day, sir!” The Colonel trotted off, a gallant figure on his little black mare, and John opened his message.
“Don’t dare to go back without stopping. Answer when.
“George Corliss.”
“Nothing wrong, is there, John?” asked Phillip anxiously.
“No, nothing wrong,” answered John, and he dropped the telegram into his pocket. “But I’m sorry to say, Phil, I’ll have to leave you in the morning.”