Meanwhile the party at Grey's Park had gathered around the fire in the
drawing-room, and Geraldine was repeating to her sister the particulars
of her presentation to the queen, shivering occasionally as she heard
the sleet and snow beating against the window, for with the going down
of the sun the storm had commenced again with redoubled fury, and the
wind howled dismally as it swept past the corners of the house, bearing
with it blinding sheets of snow and rain, and sounding some times like
human sobbing as it died away in the distance.

"Is there some one crying outside, or is it the wind?" Mr. Jerrold
asked, as the sobbing seemed like a wail of anguish, while there crept
over him one of those indefinable presentiments which we have all felt
at times and could not explain; a presentiment in his case of coming
evil, whose shadow was already upon him.

"It is the wind," Grey said. "What an awful storm for Thanksgiving
night!" and rising, he walked to the window just as outside there was
the sound of a fast-coming vehicle, which stopped at the side piazza.

A few moments later the door of the drawing-room opened, and a servant
appeared with a note, which she handed to Mr. Jerrold, saying:

"Sam Powley brought this from your sister. He says your father is very
bad."

Mr. Jerrold was not greatly surprised. It seemed to him he had expected
this, for the sobbing of the wind had sounded to him like his father's
voice calling to him in the storm. Taking the note from the girl, he
tore it open and read: