The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed me
that his master's son had left England already.
On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared, gone straight
to his father's residence. He arrived at an awkward time. Mr. Blake, the
elder, was up to his eyes in the business of the House of Commons, and
was amusing himself at home that night with the favourite parliamentary
plaything which they call "a private bill." Mr. Jeffco himself showed
Mr. Franklin into his father's study. "My dear Franklin! why do you
surprise me in this way? Anything wrong?" "Yes; something wrong with
Rachel; I am dreadfully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. But
I can't listen to you now." "When can you listen?" "My dear boy! I
won't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session, not a moment
before. Good-night." "Thank you, sir. Good-night."
Such was the conversation, inside the study, as reported to me by Mr.
Jeffco. The conversation outside the study, was shorter still. "Jeffco,
see what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning." "At six-forty,
Mr. Franklin." "Have me called at five." "Going abroad, sir?" "Going,
Jeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me.
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