The only thing I could think of was that Mr.Hollingford was in prison.

I never fancied anything approaching to the truth.
Mrs.Beatty was anxiously watching at the door for my arrival.

She had tea waiting for me, and began pulling off my bonnet and boots at her fireside.

But her hands were shaking, and her eyes red and watering.
"Never mind me, Mrs.Beatty," I said, imploringly; "tell me what is the matter." "Take a sup of tea first, my dear young lady," said she; "ill news is heard soon enough." "I won't taste it," I said, pushing it away.

"Tell me this instant!" I said, as a dim fear of the truth came across my brain.
"Well, my dear," she said, beginning to cry outright, "you see there has been a terrible smash of the coach from London.