Mr. Inchbald slowly mounted the stairs to Winthrop’s door, met the pleasant face that met him there, and gave the letter.

“I was coming to ask you down to breakfast with us, Mr. Landholm; but somebody has just come with that for you, and wishes you to have it at once.”

The pleasant face grew grave, and the seal was broken, and the letter unfolded.  It was a folio half sheet, of coarse yellowish paper, near the upper end of which a very few lines were irregularly written.

“My dear son

“It is with great pain I write to tell you that you must leave all and hasten home if you would see your mother.  Friend Underhill will take this to you, and your shortest way will be, probably, to hire a horse in M. and travel night and day; as the time of the boat is uncertain and the stage does not make very good time —­ Her illness has been so short that we did not know it was necessary to alarm you before.  My dear son, come without delay —­

“Your father,

“W.  Landholm.”

Mr. Inchbald watched the face and manner of his friend as he read, and after he read, these few words, —­ but the one expressed only gravity, the other, action.  Mr. Inchbald felt he could do nothing, and slowly went down stairs again to Mr. Underhill.  He found him still over the fire between the cakes and the coffee.  But Mr. Inchbald totally forgot to be hospitable, and not a word was said till Winthrop came in and he and the letter-bringer had wrung each other’s hand, with a brief ‘how d’ ye do.’

“How did you leave them, Mr. Underhill?”

“Well —­ they were wantin’ you pretty bad —­”

“Did she send for me?”

“Well —­ no —­ I guess not,” said the other with something of hesitancy, or of consideration, in his speech.  Winthrop stood silent a moment.

“I shall take horse immediately.  You will go —­ how?”

“May as well ride along with you,” said Mr. Underhill, settling his coat.  “I’m wet —­ a trifle —­ but may as well ride it off as any way.  Start now?”

“Have you breakfasted?”

“Well —­ no, I hain’t had time, you see —­ I come straight to you.”

“Mr. Inchbald, I must go to the office a few minutes —­ will you give my friend a mouthful?”

“But yourself, Mr. Landholm?”

“I have had breakfast.”

Mr. Inchbald did his duty as host then; but though his guest used despatch, the ‘mouthful’ was hardly a hungry man’s breakfast when Winthrop was back again.  In a few minutes more the two were mounted and on their way up the right bank of the river.