“Yes, Annie, very bad news. The very worst that could have come to me. I have received this telegram, summoning me immediately to my mother’s sick bed. Ah! her deathbed, I have every reason to fear,” said the young man. But he did not read this telegram to her, as he had read the first because this one was written and directed as follows to the address he had left with the Wynthrops: “LONE LODGE, LOGWOOD, MD., May 1, 187—. “TO MR. WILLIAM HARCOURT, care of Mr. William Williams, 110 Drouse Street, New York City: Come without delay. Your mother is very ill. “MARGARET WYNTHROP.” No, he could not read that telegram to Annie. “Oh, Mr. William, I am so very sorry. When shall you start?” she inquired, full of interest and sympathy. “The last train for to-night would be gone before I could reach Jersey City. By the first train to-morrow I must leave.” “And the child, Mr. William? You will leave her with me, I hope. I will take good care of her.” “No, dear soul. I must take her with me.” “But, Mr. William, she would embarrass you, going on such a journey.” “I might have an opportunity of restoring her to her friends. In any case, dear heart, I feel a certain responsibility connected with that child which I cannot explain or even understand. I must take her with me and watch for an opportunity of restoring her to her friends.” “And about that letter, Mr. William?” “If one should come, forward it to me.” “Yes, but please write out the address in full, for I am the worst hand in the world to remember names and places.” Harcourt took a lead pencil from his pocket, found a piece of paper in his table drawer, and wrote the following address: Mr. W. Williams, care of Mr. W. Harcourt, Logwood, Alleghany County, Maryland. “Now, Annie,” he said, as he gave her the slip of paper, “I will not keep you up any longer. Good-night! God bless you!” He went into his own room, but did not light his lamp or retire to bed. He dropped into his chair, buried his face in his hands, and murmured: “It has come! It has come! The awful crisis of my life has come at last!” CHAPTER XXIV HE GOES TO HIS DOOM Harcourt did not go to bed that night. He sat by the back window, with his head bowed upon his hands, or he rose and walked up and down the door of his room. Until midnight the sound of his neighbor’s sewing machine kept him company. Then it ceased. He threw himself for the last time in his chair, and sat with his elbow on the window sill, his forehead on his fingers, trying to nerve his soul for the ordeal in store for him. When the earliest streaks of dawn appeared in the east he got up, bathed his face, and prepared to set out for Adler’s rooms. Harcourt was without a dollar, and it was necessary to borrow money to pay his way to Virginia.