“Is that you, Chetwynd?”
“Ay I don't you know your own brother, Mildred?”
And as they met, they embraced each other affectionately.
“Have you been here long, Chetwynd?” she asked. “Why didn't you come into the house?”
“I didn't know whether I should be welcome, Mildred. Tell me how all is going on?”
“Then you have not received my letters, addressed to Bellagio and Milan? I wrote to tell you that papa is very seriously ill, and begged you to return immediately. Did you get the letters?”
“No; in fact, I have heard nothing at all from any one of you, directly nor indirectly, for more than two months.”
“How extraordinary! But how can the letters have miscarried?”
“I might give a guess, but you would think me unjustly suspicious. Is my father really ill, Mildred?”
“Really very seriously ill. About a month ago he caught a bad cold, and has never since been able to shake it off. Doctor Spencer, who has been attending him the whole time, didn't apprehend any danger at first; but now he almost despairs of papa's recovery.”