The entire village had a friendly concern in the approaching
wedding; and the aged gossips never tired of saying, "I told you
so," believing that they understood precisely how it had all come
about. Even Mrs. Nichol aquiesced with a few deep sighs, assuring
herself, "I suppose it's natural. I'd rather it was Bart Martine
than anybody else."
A few days before the 1st of December, Martine received a telegram
from an aged uncle residing in a distant State. It conveyed a
request hard to comply with, yet he did not see how it could be
evaded. The despatch was delivered in the evening while he was at
the Kembles', and its effect upon the little group was like a bolt
out of a clear sky. It ran:
"Your cousin dangerously ill at----Hospital, Washington. Go to him
at once, if possible, and telegraph me to come, if necessary."
Hobart explained that this cousin had remained in the army from
choice, and that his father, old and feeble, naturally shrank from
a journey to which he was scarcely equal. "My hospital
experience," he concluded, "leads him to think that I am just the
one to go, especially as I can get there much sooner than he.
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