The empty road ran down to the foot of the hill, no trudging messenger

climbed its hot slope. Twelve.

"I'll not look at the road for five minutes," she told herself,

resolutely, and sat staring at the watch open in her hand. Five

minutes later she snapped the lid shut, and looked. Blazing, unbroken

sunshine. "It ought to have been here by this time," she thought with

a tightening of her lips. Perhaps he was away? Her heart sank at that;

but how absurd! Suppose he was. What did a few hours' waiting amount

to? She had waited thirteen years.

For another hour she watched in the heat and silence of the garden;

then started to hear Sarah, at her elbow, saying that dinner was on

the table.

"Very well," she answered impatiently. "I'll wait another five

minutes," she said to herself. But she waited ten. When she sat down

in the dining-room, she ate almost nothing. Once she asked Sarah if

she knew how long it took for a despatch to come from Philadelphia to

Old Chester. Sarah gaped at the question, and said she didn't know as

she'd ever heard.

In the afternoon, with covert glances out of the window, she kept

indoors and tried to put her mind on practical things: the

arrangements with her landlord for cancelling the lease; the packing

and shipping of furniture. At last, on a sudden impulse, she said to

herself that she would go and meet David as he came home from school--

and call at the telegraph-office.

In the post-office, where the telegraph bound Old Chester to the outer

world, Mrs. Minns, looking up from her knitting, saw the tense face at

the delivery window.

"No letters for you, Mrs. Richie," she said; then she remembered the

telegram that had by this time interested all Old Chester, and got up

and came forward, sympathetically curious. "Well'm; I suppose there's

a good deal of dyin' this time of year?"

"Have you a despatch for me?" Mrs. Richie said curtly.

"No'm;" said Mrs. Minns.

"Did Dr. King send a telegram for me this morning?" she asked in a

sudden panic of alarm.

"Yes'm," the postmistress said, "he sent it."

Mrs. Richie turned away, and began to walk about the office; up and

down, up and down. Once she stopped and read the names on the

pigeonholes of the letter-rack; once the telegraph instrument clicked,

and she held her breath: "Is that mine?"

"It ain't," Mrs. Minns said laconically.




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