"
They were sitting in friendly chat after their
return from their walk, when Mrs. Crawford
burst into the room in evident excitement.
"Husband," she cried, "Peter has brought
home a terrible report. He has heard from
a person who has just come from Milford that
Carl has been run over on the railroad and
instantly killed!"
Dr. Crawford turned pale, his features
worked convulsively, and he put his hand to
his heart, as he sank back in his chair, his face
as pale as the dead.
"Woman!" said Ashcroft, sternly, "I believe
you have killed your husband!"
"Oh, don't say that! How could I be so imprudent?"
said Mrs. Crawford, clasping her hands,
and counterfeiting distress.
Ashcroft set himself at once to save his
friend from the result of the shock.
"Leave the room!" he said, sternly, to Mrs. Crawford.
"Why should I? I am his wife."
"And have sought to be his murderer. You know
that he has heart disease. Mrs. --Cook,
I know more about you than you suppose."
Mrs. Crawford's color receded.
"I don't understand you," she said. She
had scarcely reached the door, when there was
a sound of footsteps outside and Carl dashed
into the room, nearly upsetting his stepmother.
"You here?" she said, frigidly.
"What is the matter with my father?" asked Carl.
"Are you Carl?" said Ashcroft, quickly.
"Yes."
"Your father has had a shock. I think I can
soon bring him to."
A few minutes later Dr. Crawford opened his eyes.
"Are you feeling better, Paul?" asked Ashcroft, anxiously.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196