She was holding it ajar and looking out with pale face, and wild hungry eyes.--"A letter?
Don't be silent or I shall go mad! Tell me the worst! Is he alive ?" "Yes." She gasped, and staggered against the door-post.
"Where?
Why does he not come back to me ?" asked she, in a confused, abstracted way.
It was best to tell the truth, and have it over.
"He has gone to London, Lucia.

He will think over it all there, and be sorry for it, and then all will be well again." But Lucia did not hear the end of that sentence.

Murmuring to herself, "To London! To London!" she hurried back into the room.
"Clara! Clara! have the children had their breakfast ?" "Yes, ma'am!" says Clara, appearing from the inner room.
"Then help me to pack up, quick! Your master is gone to London on business; and we are to follow him immediately." And she began bustling about the room.
"My dearest Lucia, you are not fit to travel now!" "I shall die if I stay here; die if I do nothing! I must find him!" whispered she.

"Don't speak loud, or Clara will hear.

I can find him, and nobody can but me! Why don't you help me to pack, Valencia ?" "My dearest! but what will Scoutbush say when he comes home, and finds you gone ?" "What right has he to interfere?
I am Elsley's wife, am I not?
and may follow my husband if I like:" and she went on desperately collecting, not her own things, but Elsley's.
Valencia watched her with tear-brimming eyes; collecting all his papers, counting over his clothes, murmuring to herself that he would want this and that in London.