While this strange meeting had gone on, a telegraph boy--that familiar, common-place little sprite of the streets--had made his way to John’s door; and, unnoticed by the agitated group, had been directed by Mrs. Short putting out her head and shaking it sadly all the time by way of protest--to where John stood. This little bit of side action had been going on for a minute or two without anyone observing it; and it was not till the group had broken up and John and his sister were standing together, incapable of speech and almost of thought, watching the others as they walked away, that the telegraph boy came up and thrust his message into John’s hand. It seemed a vulgar interruption, breaking into the tragic scene; and John stood with the envelope in his hand, with a sense that he was as much beyond the reach of any communications which could reach him in that way, as if he had come to himself in the land beyond the grave. But Susie felt differently; the interruption was to her a welcome break. ‘Look at it,’ she said, holding his arm close with a woman’s keen interest in a new event. ‘It may be something of importance.’ ‘There is nothing of any importance,’ he said, in the deadly languor of exhaustion. ‘Nothing can make any difference to us now.’ ‘But open it,’ said Susie. He gave her a look of reproach. What did it matter? If the telegram had been from the Queen, it could have made no difference. Nothing could alter the fact that he was his father’s son. ‘But open it,’ Susie said again. He tore it open in a languid way, hoping nothing, caring for nothing, in the blank of despondency and helplessness. Even the words within did not rouse him. He read and crumpled it up in his hand. ‘What is it, John?’ ‘Nothing very much. They want me--in the office,’ he said. ‘In the office! That makes me think--John, why are you here at this time of day?’ ‘If you mean why am I not there---- I haven’t been there for three days. I have left the office,’ said John, in the carelessness of his exhausted state. She caught his arm again with an almost shriek of dismay. ‘Left the office! when it is all you have to look to. Oh, John, John!’ ‘What did it matter? They were very unjust: they made a false accusation: and then I discovered _him_. I found out why they suspected me, why I have been suspected all my life--even by you and--my mother, Susie.’ ‘Oh, no, John. Oh, no, no, dear John. Never, never!’ cried Susie, vehemently. ‘Mother has suffered a great deal: she can’t forget: she can’t forgive even as we do. We do, John, don’t we? We do, we do!’ ‘Forgive whom? The people that had always doubted me for a reason I didn’t even know?’ His face grew stern. He could say nothing of the other, whom it was both easier and harder to forgive. Susie did not dare to enter upon that subject. She gave his arm a little pressure, and said, softly, ‘Since they send for you, you will go, John? Oh, go! You must not throw everything away, because----’