Swift as lightning his thoughts turned to his mother; something had happened to her, and dear as she was to him, and much as he would do to ward evil from her, he was half-conscious of a pleasurable sensation, a feeling of hope that the something which had happened might give him a little longer respite. He was soon dressed, and out in the hall with Edna, whose face was very white, and whose voice trembled as she said to him: “I have bad news for you, and I am so sorry that I should be the one to tell it, but your mother is sleeping quietly and I would not rouse her. A servant has just come from Oakwood, and says that Miss Burton,—oh, forgive me that I must tell you,—Miss Burton has had a stroke of paralysis, and can neither move nor speak.” He was not glad, and it was not a sense of freedom which made him clutch Edna’s shoulder so firmly, as if he saw already a path which led toward her. He was shocked, frightened, and filled with remorse as he remembered all the past, and how he had wished to escape. “Paralysis, and she seemed so well when I left her! When was it? How was it?” he asked, and Edna told him of the burglar, and what she had heard from the Oakwood servant. “You will go at once,” she said as he made no movement, and that roused him to action. “Yes, certainly,” he answered, and then hurried down stairs, and out into the yard, where his horse was already saddled and waiting for him. Edna had given orders to that effect before she called him, and she stood watching him as he galloped down the avenue and turned toward Oakwood. Georgie seemed better; had spoken once, and moved her fingers just a little, they told Roy, in answer to his inquiries; but when he asked if he could see her, he was put off with the excuse that a sight of him might excite her too much at present, and then he asked for Mrs. Burton, and was going to her room, when Mr. Burton exclaimed: “Don’t for thunder’s sake go there. She’s in the awfulest hysterics, I reckon, you ever run against, and the old boy generally is to pay.” But Mrs. Burton _would_ see Roy, and so he went to her, and at sight of him she went off into another cramp, and clutched him round the neck, and cried and sobbed over him, and called him her poor, dear boy, and spoke so touchingly of Georgie, that Roy, always sympathetic, felt the tears rush to his own eyes as he tried to comfort her. The house was full of guests, some of whom were huddled together in groups, talking over the terrible calamity, while others were packing their trunks preparatory to leaving on the first train for New York. There would be no wedding that day, of course, so all the morning the baggage wagon came and went, as guest after guest departed, both from Oakwood and the hotel, until Summerville generally was emptied of its strangers, and an air of gloom settled down upon it, as the citizens thought of the sad change a few hours had wrought.