Tearing open
the envelope, he read the following lines, hastily scrawled on a bit of
blue paper:
Wednesday, A.M.
MARCUS WILKESON, ESQ.:
SIR: Please come over and see me immediately. I have
something important to communicate.
Your obedient servant,
ELIPHALET MINFORD."
"Something must be wrong," said Marcus; and startling thoughts then
occurred to him. "Has her hard studying brought on illness? It can't be.
She was well enough last evening. What can be the matter?"
Marcus Wilkeson's temperament was of that unfortunate nervous sort which
is thrown off its balance by the slightest shock. His frame trembled as
he put on his overcoat and hat; and, when he looked in the mirror, he
noticed that his face was paler than usual, and his eyes were glassy.
"Pooh! what a sensitive fool I am!" said he.
He walked hurriedly to Mr. Minford's, and mounted the long, creaking
staircases, two steps at a time, tormenting himself all the way with
vague apprehensions of evil.
When he entered the room, without knocking (as was his custom of late),
he found the inventor standing in front of his machine, with bare arms,
hard at work.
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