but the other--Major Harper"----

"Frederick--Yes, we must send for Frederick," sobbed Mary. "My father
cares more for him than for any of us. Oh, poor Frederick!"

"But," Eulalie said--they were all whispering together at the door--"I
don't think any one of us, not even Elizabeth, knows Frederick's address
just now. A week ago he was passing through London, but he does make
such a mystery of his comings and goings. Oh, if he were only here!"

"Ask my father," cried Mary--"ask him if he would like to see
Frederick."

As she said this rather too loudly, there was a strange smothered sound
from the bed. Agatha ran. The old Squire was gasping, choking, with the
frightful effort to speak. His face was purple--his eyes wild--yet the
poor bound tongue refused to obey his will.

"Hush! be composed," said his daughter-in-law, soothingly. "You shall
see no one. No one shall be sent for. Will that do?"

He grew calmer, but restless still.

"Shall my husband come? He will do you good--he does everybody good.
Would you like to see Nathanael?"

A faint assent--scarcely intelligible--and then the Squire dropped
off again into sleep. Agatha left him and went to his daughters, who
lingered outside.

"I think Major Harper has somehow vexed him. He will only see my
husband. A messenger must be sent to Cornwall. Who will write?"

"Who but yourself," said Eulalie, hardly able even then to repress a
look, beneath which Agatha's cheek glowed fiery red; "who so fit as
yourself to tell this to your husband?"

"You are right;" and she smothered down her swelling heart into a grave
dignity. "Get the messenger ready--I will write here--in this room."

She turned-within--closed the door--looked once more at the old man,
trying by that mournful sight to still the earthly anger that was again
rising in her heart,--and sat down to write.

It was a hard task. She scribbled the date, and paused. This, strangely
enough, was the first letter she had ever written to him. She did not
know how to begin it. Her heart beat--her fingers trembled. To tell such
news to the dearest friend and husband that ever woman had, would be a
difficult and painful thing, and for her to tell it to him, as they were
now! For the first letter he ever had from her to be this! And how could
she write it?--she who till to-day would almost have cut off her right
hand rather than have humbled herself to write to him at all. Yet now
all the wrath was melting out of he