Part 23 (1/2)

He had a night run to Decatur and determined that he would telegraph to the house, and quiet these nervous apprehensions that were so cruel, though probably so absurd. It would cost but little, he reasoned, and though foolish, it was wiser than to continue to be torn by doubts. So before going to bed he gave the operator a half rate message, for morning delivery, as follows:

To Manning, Morgan & Co., Chicago, Ill.: Is my wife or daughter sick?

Answer, care Gilsey.

C. MORGAN.

He felt easier having done this, and pa.s.sed a better night than the previous one, although there was in all his sleeping and waking thoughts an under current of solicitude over impending danger to Mary.

With an attempt not to be anxious, yet terribly apprehensive at heart, he tore open the telegram that reached him about 9 o'clock:

To C. Morgan, care Gilsey & Co., Decatur: Come home first train.

MANNING.

Good G.o.d, what was this! Were his forebodings indeed true? If so he was all the more totally unprepared for the truth. His constant comfort had been that his fears had not the slightest foundation to rest upon, and the more they crowded upon him the surer he had been that they were flimsier than dreams. But here staring him in the face were those four ominous words:

”Come home first train.”

Why had they not given him the whole story? He started for the telegraph office to send for further particulars, but stopped. Suppose Mary was dead! Did he want to learn it here, so far from his wife? No; he would wait. Such a story would unfold soon enough. There were several hours before a train went his way; the discipline of twenty years a.s.serted itself, and he attended to his business.

The ride home was one that can be understood in its depths only by those who have been similarly circ.u.mstanced. The train seemed to creep. The minutes were like hours. The stops seemed to be interminable, and every mile nearer home seemed to be proportionately longer than the previous one. He reached the city at dark. The store was closed. He had expected to find Manning there, but he suddenly remembered that he had not telegraphed to him the time of his arrival.

As he neared his home the first glance showed him there was a change.

The lower part of the house was in darkness, and only a dim light shone in the front chamber, which was but rarely occupied.

”They have laid her there,” he said to himself, and all his soul cried within him in anguish. His poor wife! How she must have suffered, to have gone through all this alone! What a brute he was to go away Monday, when he ought to have known, and did know, that something dreadful was upon them! He reached the door; it was fastened; he would go to the other side and enter quietly. But some one heard his step, and, opening the door, called him back.

”Is it Mr. Morgan?” The voice was that of a neighbor.

”Yes.” He pa.s.sed in, expecting to see or hear his wife. The friend closed the door and turned to him.

”Have you heard--,” she began.

”I have heard nothing; is Mary--,” he broke down. The door beside him opened.

”Oh, papa!”

Give him air! What mystery was this?

”Mary, is it you? Are you alive? Why, I thought--I feared--Oh, darling, is it you?”

Yes, it was Mary. Oh, thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!

”Tell me again, dear, are you well?”

”Oh, yes, papa, but poor mamma!”

”Mamma! What of her? Is she sick? What is it? Tell me quick!” And again he was pushed from the heaven of happiness to the bottomless pit of doubt. ”Is mamma sick? where is she?”