In spite of this undercurrent of dislike and disapprobation on the part of their guests, breakfast passed off quite smoothly, for Salome was determined that there should be no pains spared upon her part to keep the peace and make everything as pleasant as possible. She was the mistress of Dr. Winthrop’s home and she would try to do her duty faithfully, even though she was well aware that her nerves could not long endure such a strain. The meal was finally ended, and they were all about to return to the library, when a servant entered and handed Dr. Winthrop a telegram. He read it, and a startled look instantly overspread his features. Salome observed it, and her own face grew pale with an instinctive feeling of impending evil. “That is a cable message, is it not, Truman?” inquired his mother, who had also been regarding him keenly. “Is there any ill news from your father or brother?” “Yes, father is very ill,” Dr. Winthrop replied, thinking it best to conceal nothing. “The message is from Norman and reads thus: ‘Father taken suddenly and violently ill. Peritonitis. Come if possible.’” Salome’s heart sank like lead in her bosom as she listened to this peremptory summons. If he went would he take her with him, or would he think it best for her to remain quietly at home? If so, would his mother and sister have to be her guests during his absence? How could she bear the separation from him—how could she live under such unnatural constraint with these two women for long weeks, and perhaps even months? Thoughts like these darted quickly through her brain during the minute that elapsed before madam could gather her wits, after the shock of hearing the message read. She, too, had grown somewhat pale, but she did not lose one iota of her self-possession over the serious news. “How very unfortunate, and we have but just arrived!” she said at length. “I can never endure another voyage so soon. Can you go to your father, Truman?” “I must, since I am sent for, although I doubt if I can reach London in season to be of any service, for the crisis will have been reached and passed before I could land. However, if he should weather it safely, I may be able to prevent a relapse and add to his comfort during his convalescence. Let me see when I can go,” he added, taking up the morning paper and turning to the steamship advertisements. “Ah, this is favorable; the _Scythia_ sails to-day at one o’clock; so I can go at once—there will be no delay.” But his eyes wandered wistfully to Salome’s pale face as he said this. “You will take me, True?” she pleaded, in a low, eager tone, but instinctively knowing that he would not, even as she spoke. The intensely appealing look in her dark eyes smote him keenly, for he dared not take her on such a journey at that time of the year; besides, he hoped to be back in less than a month if all went well.