“I am afraid the boys made a big mistake,” said Mr. Bently. “They was well fixed here.” “They was indeed,” agreed Sam. “Say, would you mind looking at them letters again to make sure, Mr. Bently? No? Don't it beat all why she don't hear from him! Well, I must be getting along, she's waiting for me. You think there is some sort of a slim chance that the letters are lost? It will be a comfort for them to think that. Indians, maybe?” “No, I wouldn't say a word about Indians, Sam,” objected Mr. Bently hastily. “Well, then, they are just lost, you reckon.” “That may be, Sam, I don't say it's so, but the western mails are very oncertain. They probably had to give their letters to some party that was coming East, and they may have lost them.” “Then I'd like to put my hands on the cuss that done it! I'd make him jump clean out of his skin to get shut of me.” The honest fellow galloped back to the farm through the mud, and in the face of a cold rain that drenched him to the skin. It was early candle-light when he entered the lane, and he walked his horse up the strip of soggy turf while he meditated on what he should tell Mrs. Landray. The storm had driven her from the porch, but as he turned the corner of the house on his way to the barn he saw her face at the library window, and merely shook his head. When he had stabled and fed his horse he hurried into the kitchen. Martha, his wife, met him with a look of inquiry on her broad, good-natured face. “No letters?” she asked, and he answered her with her own words, “No letters.” “There's a drink of brandy for you, Sam,” she said. “Mrs. Landray wanted you should have it.” Sam stalked to the table and emptied the glass at a swallow. “Best French spirits! The Landrays always was gentlemen when it came to their drinks.” “We are expecting things, we are,” said his wife. “You're to be ready to go into town after supper for the doctor, if he's wanted.” In the dining-room with its dark walnut wainscoating, doubly sombre in the half light of the flickering candles that burnt on the mantel, Virginia watched and waited alone. No sound came from the room above; silence filled the house with a hush that was like expectation. But a moment before she had heard Martha moving to and fro; a chair had been pushed across the floor; and she had heard the sound of voices. She had listened intently but the words they spoke had been indistinguishable; perhaps Jane was resting more quietly now. An hour had elapsed since Sam had rattled out of the yard in the covered cart, the beat of his horse's hoofs on the spongy earth soon dying away in the distance. He had been dispatched in urgent haste into town to bring Dr. Harrison.