“I can’t tell you. It was something that she heard by telegram. Some one is ill. She talked of life or death; she is mad with fear of something. Oh, you should have seen her eyes! She looked, when she opened the paper, awful! I thought she would have struck me because I kept it back.” “Anyhow, whatever it is, she could not have gone before,” said the first footman, with solemn importance. “But what the devil can it be?” he added, as he stroked his chin reflectively. This was precisely the question upon which no one could throw the least glimmer of light; and, leaving the three servants to their speculations, we follow Madeline down to the Holt. She caught an early train. She was equally lucky in getting a fly at the station (by bribing heavily) and implored the driver to gallop the whole way. She arrived at the farm at eight o’clock, and rushed up the garden and burst into the kitchen white and breathless. But she was too late. The truth came home to her with an agonizing pang. She felt as if a dagger had been thrust into her heart, for there at the table sat Mrs. Holt, her elbows resting on it, her apron thrown over her head. She was sobbing long, long gasping sobs, and looked the picture of grief. Madeline shook as if seized with a sudden palsy as she stood in the doorway. Her lips refused to move or form a sound; her heart was beating in her very throat, and would assuredly choke her. She could not have asked a question if her life depended on it. Mrs. Holt, hearing steps, threw down her apron and confronted her. “Ay, I thought it might be you!” she ejaculated in a husky voice. “Well, it’s all over!... He died, poor darling, at daybreak, in these arms!” holding out those two hard-working extremities to their fullest extent, with a gesture that spoke volumes. “I will not believe it; it is not true; it--it is impossible!” broke in the wretched girl. “The doctor said that there was no danger. Oh, Mrs. Holt, for God’s sake, I implore you to tell me that you are only _frightening_ me! You think I have not been a good mother, that I want a lesson, that--that--I will see for myself,” hurrying across the kitchen and opening a well-known door. CHAPTER XXXVIII. DEATH AND SICKNESS.