"If I can do anything, Mr. Voss, command--" Mr. Birtwell had gone to
the door with his visitor, who passed out hastily, not waiting to
hear the conclusion of his sentence.

"A little strange in his manner, I should say," remarked Mr.
Birtwell as he came back. "One. might infer that he thought us to
blame for his son's absence."

"I can't bear this suspense. I must see Frances." It was an hour
after Mr. Voss had been there. Mrs. Birtwell rang a bell, and
ordering the carriage, made herself ready to go out.

"Mrs. Voss says you must excuse her," said the servant who had taken
up Mrs. Birtwell's card. "She is not seeing any but the family,"
added the man, who saw in the visitor's face the pain of a great
disappointment.

Slowly retiring, her head bent forward and her body stooping a
little like one pressed down by a burden, Mrs. Birtwell left the
house of her oldest and dearest friend with an aching sense of
rejection at her heart. In the darkest and saddest hour of her life
that friend had turned from the friend who had been to her more than
a sister, refusing the sympathy and tears she had come to offer.
There was a bitter cup at the lips of both; which was the bitterest
it would be hard to tell.

"Not now," Mrs. Voss had said, speaking to her husband; "I cannot
meet her now."