before then?'

'Yes,' he said hesitatingly; 'there was nothing to tell you, or I would
have done so. They had lost sight of him themselves.'

'When did you go?' I demanded, 'and what did they say? Oh! Hugh! you
might have told me. I didn't know he had any agents in town, or I
would have gone myself. Let me come with you now--tonight.'

Miss Rayner laid her hand on my arm. 'Don't be so excited, child. Use
a little of your common sense. Do you think there is any chance of
getting up to town at this time of night, or if there were, would you
be likely to get the information you need? Hugh can sleep here, and go
up the first thing tomorrow morning.'

To this Hugh agreed at once. He seemed almost as anxious as I for the
welfare of his friend.

The letter had brought little comfort to me, but I could see it had
greatly relieved Miss Rayner's mind. My one fear now was that it was
illness, perhaps death, that was the cause of his absence.

'He says so little,' I remarked presently; 'he does not tell me the
nature of the accident, or how badly he has been hurt. And why should
the letter have been delayed?'

'That is easily accounted for,' said Hugh, taking up the envelope and
examining the post-mark. 'He was evidently at some rough mountain
place when he wrote, and posts are few and far between. If you trust
your letters to a messenger or a passer-by, you may think yourself
fortunate if he remembers to post them at all, and they may often lie
in his coat pocket for weeks before he thinks of them.'

That was an anxious evening to me. As I was wishing Hugh 'good-night'
I said, 'I have never thanked you yet for coming over to me at once
with the letter. It was very good of you.'

'The governor suggested posting it, but I thought you would like to get
it as soon as possible. Nell was dying to open it; she told me to tell
you she wanted you home again. When are you going to part with her,
aunt?' And he turned towards Miss Rayner as he spoke.

'When she wants to go,' was the blunt reply.

I went to bed soon after, but I could not sleep. I read and re-read
the letter, and wished much that further details had been given. Yet
when I thought of him penning those lines on a sick-bed, perhaps with
the greatest difficulty and pain, I could wish he had not troubled to
write so much. Earnestly did I pray that his health and strength might
be given back to him. I felt it such a comfort to pour out all my
doub