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"Give the note to me, Helen," said her father. "Why do you stare
at it so?"
She handed it to him without a word, but looked searchingly in his
face, and so did his wife, who had joined him.
"Why, this is rather strange," he said.
"I think it is," added Helen, emphatically.
Mrs. Kemble took the note and after a moment ejaculated: "Well,
thank the Lord! it isn't about Hobart."
"No, no," said the banker, almost irritably. "We've all worried
about Hobart till in danger of making fools of ourselves. As if
people never get sick and send for relatives, or as if letters
were never delayed! Why, bless me! haven't we heard to-day that he
was well? and hasn't Jackson, who knows more about other people's
business than his own, been considerate enough to say that his
request has nothing to do with Hobart? It is just as he says, some
one is sick and wants to arrange about money matters before
banking hours to-morrow. There, it isn't far. I'll soon be back."
"Let me go with you, father," pleaded Helen. "I can stay with Mrs.
Jackson or sit in the parlor till you are through.


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