“Humbly and faithfully yours, Jenny.”

It was some time before Mr. Lofton’s mind grew calm and clear, after reading this note.  That Jenny’s absence was, in some way, connected with Mark, was a thought that soon presented itself.  But, in what way, he could not make out; for he had never heard the name of the ship in which his grandson sailed, and knew nothing of her expected arrival home.

By the time Mr. Jones appeared, ready to start on the proposed mission to New York, Mr. Lofton had made up his mind not to attempt to follow Jenny, but to wait for some word from her.  Not until this sudden separation took place did Mr. Lofton understand how necessary to his happiness the affectionate girl had become.  So troubled was he at her absence, and so anxious for her safety, that when night came he found himself unable to sleep.  In thinking about the dangers that would gather around one so ignorant of the world, his imagination magnified the trials and temptations to which, alone as she was, she would be exposed.  Such thoughts kept him tossing anxiously upon his pillow, or restlessly pacing the chamber floor until day dawn.  Then, from over-excitement and loss of rest, he was seriously indisposed—­so much so, that his physician had to be called in during the day.  He found him with a good deal of fever, and deemed it necessary to resort to depletion, as well as to the application of other remedies to allay the over-action of his vital system.  These prostrated him at once—­so much so, that he was unable to sit up.  Before night he was so seriously ill that the physician had to be sent for again.  The fever had returned with great violence, and the pressure on his brain was so great that he had become slightly delirious.

During the second night, this active stage of the disease continued; but all the worst symptoms subsided towards morning.  Daylight found him sleeping quietly, with a cool moist skin, and a low, regular pulse.  Towards mid-day he awoke; but the anxiety that came with thought brought back many of the unfavorable symptoms, and he was worse again towards evening.  On the third day he was again better, but so weak as to be unable to sit up.

How greatly did old Mr. Lofton miss the gentle girl, who had become almost as dear to him as a child, during this brief illness, brought on by her strange absence.  No hand could smooth his pillow like hers.  No presence could supply her place by his side.  He was companionless, now that she was away; and his heart reached vainly around for something to lean upon for support.

On the fourth day he was better, and sat up a little.  But his anxiety for Jenny was increasing.  Where could she be?  He read her brief letter over and over again.

“May not return for weeks,” he said, as he held the letter in his hand.  “Where can she have gone?  Foolish child!  Why did she not consult with me?  I would have advised her for the best.”