He could make no more out of them. “Mrs. Bangs might have been more explicit,” he resumed. “She has no right to play upon our fears,” said Mary. “Well, what are you going to do?” inquired Mary of her brother. “I will do as the dispatch desires me, go at once, which will be at midnight.” “Give it to me again,” said Mary. He put the dispatch into her hand, and she sat down with it, apparently studying its every word. “Vague! Vague! Can anything be possibly more vague,” she exclaimed. “It leaves us utterly in doubt of her motive for sending, she must have done it on purpose to try our feelings.” “She has done it in carelessness, carelessness,” surmised Charles. “Which is as reprehensible as the other,” severely answered Mary. “Charles, when you get there, should you find him dangerously ill dispatch to us at once.” “I should be sure to do so,” was his answer. “Where are you going?” asked Mary, for he was preparing to go out. “As far as Mrs. Brewster’s.” Leaving the warm room for the street, the night air seemed to strike upon him with a chill which he had not experienced when he went out previously, and he returned and put on his overcoat. He could not leave before 2 o’clock, unless he had engaged a special train, which the circumstances did not appear to call for. At 2 o’clock a mail train passed through the place, stopping at all stations, and on that he concluded to go. He walked briskly along the path, his thoughts running upon many things, but chiefly on the unsatisfactory dispatch, very unsatisfactory he felt it to be, and a vague fear crossed his mind that his friend and partner might be in danger, looking at it from a sober point of view his judgment said “no,” but we cannot always look at suspense soberly, neither could Charles Taylor.