"I must see him," he exclaimed, decisively. "By the way, once more, do
you happen to know whether Mrs. Steel got a letter from me this morning,
Mrs. Woodgate?"
"Yes, she did," answered Morna at once. Her manner declared her to be
not unacquainted with the contents of the letter, and Langholm treated
the declaration as though spoken.
"And is she not going to see that poor fellow?" he asked.
"At once," said Morna, "and I am going with her. She is to call for me
with the phaeton at three."
"Do you know anything about him, Mrs. Woodgate?"
"All."
"Then I can only commend him to the sympathy which I know he has
already. And I will talk to Mr. Steel while you are gone."
The first sentence was almost mechanical. That matter was off Langholm's
mind, and in a flash it was fully occupied with the prospect before
himself. He lifted the peak of his cap, but, instead of remounting his
bicycle, he wheeled it very slowly up the drive. The phaeton was at the
door when Langholm also arrived, and Rachel herself ran out to greet him
on the steps--tall and lissome, in a light-colored driving cloak down to
her heels, and a charming hat--yet under it a face still years older
than the one he wore in his heart, though no less beautiful in its
distress.
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