It was a stranger
on a big horse with a telegram. He offered it to Mrs. Hatton, but John
had quickly followed his mother and he took it from her and read its
appalling message:
Come quickly! Martha is very, very ill!
A dark, heavy cloud took possession of both hearts, but John said only,
"Come with me, mother." "No," she answered, "this is Jane's opportunity.
I must not interfere with it. I shall be with you, dear John, though you
may not see. My kiss and blessing to the little one. God help her!
Hurry, John! I will have your horse at the door in ten minutes."
In that long, dark, hurrying ride to London, he suddenly remembered that
for two days he had been haunted by a waylaying thought of some verses
he had read and cut out of a daily paper, and with the remembrance, back
they came to his mind, setting themselves to a phantom melody he could
hardly refrain himself from softly singing,
"Many waters go softly dreaming
On to the sea,
But the river of Death floweth softest,
By tower and tree.
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