Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

THE LAST GLIMPSE OF THE OLD WORLD. 139
He put what we now call a " telegram" into Charles's hand,
and the burden of it was mourning and woe. Densil Ravenshoe
was sinking fast, and all that steam and horse-flesh could do
would be needed, if Charles would see him alive.
"Will, go and find MIr. Marston for me, and I will wait here
for you. How are we to get back to Putney?"
"I have got a cab waiting."
William dashed into the inn, and Charles waited. He turned
and looked at the river.
There it was winding away past villa and park, bearing a
thousand boats upon its bosom. He looked once again upon the
crowded steamers and the busy multitude, and even in his grief
felt a rush of honest pride as he thought that he was one of' the
heroes of the day. And then he turned, for William was beside
him again. Marston was notto be found.
" I should like to have seen him again," he said; " but we must
fly, Will, we must fly!"
Had he known under what circumstances he was next to see
a great concourse of people, and under what circumstances he
was next to meet Marston, who knows but that in his ignorance
and short-sightedness he would have chosen to die where he stood
in such a moment of triumph and honor?
In the hurry of departure he had no time to ask questions.
Only when he found himself in the express train, having chosen
to go second-class with his servant, and not be alone, did he find
time to ask how it had come about.
There was but little to be told. Densil had been seized after
breakfast, and at first so slightly that they were not much
alarmed. He had been put to bed, and the symptoms had grown
worse. Then William had been despatched for Charles, leaving
Cuthbert, Mary, and Father Mackworth at his bedside. ~ All had
been done that could be done. - He seemed to be in no pain, and
quite contented. That was all. The telegraph told the rest.
Cuthbert had promised to send horses to Crediton, and a relay
forty miles nearer home.
The terrible excitement of the day, and the fact that he had
eaten nothing since breakfast, made Charles less able to bear up
against the news than he would otherwise have been. Strange
thoughts and fears began to shape themselves in his head, and to
find voices in the monotonous jolting of the carriage.
Not so much the fear of his father's death. That he did not
fear, because he knew it would come; and, as to that, the bitterness of death was past, bitter, deeply bitter, as it was: but a terror lest his father should die without speaking to him, -that he
should never see those dear lips wreathe into a smile for him any
more.