Had there been some disaster?
Was Henry violently angry with him?
What would their meeting bring?
He had come in to the Ritz from a dinner party, and had got the telegram just in time to rush straight to the station with a hastily-packed bag, and get into an almost-moving train, and all night long he had wondered and wondered, as he sat in the corner of his carriage.

But whatever had happened was a relief--it produced action.

He had no longer just to try to kill time and stifle thought; he could do something for good or ill.
It seemed as though he would never arrive, as the hours wore on and dawn faded into daylight.

Then, at last, the crawling engine drew up at his destination, and he got out and recognized Henry's chauffeur waiting for him on the platform.

The swift rush through the cold air refreshed him, and took away the fatigue of the long night--and soon they had drawn up at the door of the _presbytere_, and he found himself being shown by the priest's ancient housekeeper into the spotlessly clean parlor.
The Pere Anselme joined him in a moment, and they silently shook hands.
"You are not aware, sir, why you have been sent for, I suppose ?" the priest asked, with his mild courtesy.