One hour later Senator Hamblin passed into the banking room, and handed Sargent a letter addressed, George Howard, Chicago, Ill., saying:
"Mail this at once. And do not be disappointed in this matter; if we can get Alden back again, I will make you a handsome present—I will remain here while you are absent."
Sargent, leaving the bank, slipped the letter into his pocket.
"Lucky he sent me! I will take care of this for the present."
[CHAPTER XXV.]
THE CRUEL LETTER.
George Alden, with satchel in hand, stepped from a train just arrived from the East, at Chicago; his pale face, blood-shot eyes, and whole manner betokening a nervous condition. A stranger in a strange city, scarcely knowing which way to go, he felt almost like a guilty wretch fleeing from justice. The events of the past three days passing before his mind like a row of spectres, his haggard face told plainly of his anguish.
The sun was sinking beneath the western plains as the fugitive walked the streets of the strange city, not knowing whither to turn. He was faint from lack of nourishment, for he had not taken sufficient food to preserve his strength; while severe pains in his back recalled to his mind the fearful experience in the burning factory, when he lay in the hallway held down by the firebrand. He entered a restaurant, and seating himself at a small table in a recess, ordered food. Then, taking a photograph from his pocket, he imprinted many kisses upon the pictured face of his wife.