A full hour did the interview last. The voices seemed occasionally to be raised in anger, so that the sound penetrated to their ears downstairs, from the room overhead. Mrs. Hunter grew impatient; the tea waited on the table, and she wanted it. At length they were heard to descend, and to cross the hall. 'James is showing her out himself,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'Will you tell him we are waiting tea, Mr. Clay?' Austin stepped into the hall, and started when he caught sight of the face of Mr. Hunter. He was turning back from closing the door on Miss Gwinn, and the bright rays of the hall-lamp fell full upon his countenance. It was of ghastly whiteness; its expression one living aspect of terror, of dread. He staggered, rather than walked, to a chair, and sank into it. Austin hastened to him. 'Oh, sir, what is it? You are ill?' The strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto in his native self-respect, was for the moment overcome. He leaned his forehead upon Austin's arm, hiding its pallor, and put up his finger for silence. 'I have had a stab, Clay,' he whispered. 'Bear with me, lad, for a minute. I have had a cruel stab.' Austin really did not know whether to take the words literally. 'A stab?' he hesitatingly repeated. 'Ay; here,' touching his heart. 'I wish I was dead, Clay. I wish I had died years ago; or that _she_ had. Why was she permitted to live?--to live to work me this awful wrong?' he dreamily wailed. 'An awful wrong to me and mine!' 'What is it?' spoke Austin, upon impulse. 'A wrong? Who has done it?' 'She has. The woman now gone out. She has done it all.' He rose, and appeared to be looking for his hat. 'Mrs. Hunter is waiting tea, sir,' said the amazed Austin. 'Tea!' repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were bewildered; 'I cannot go in again to-night; I cannot see them. Make some excuse for me, Clay--anything. _Why_ did that woman work me this crying wrong?' He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it after him with a bang, leaving Austin in wondering consternation. He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. Hunter had been obliged to go out on business; he did not know what else to say. Florence was sent to bed after tea, but Austin sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. Something led back to the previous conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had been alluding to her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her daily portion. 'What is it?' said Austin, in his impulsive manner. 'The thought that I shall have to leave Florence without a mother.' 'Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as that! You may get better.' 'Yes; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I shall. But, you see, the very fear of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me to it by slow degrees.'