Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped inside Mrs. Quale's, who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the Shucks, and prophesying that their destiny would be the workhouse, when Austin Clay came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was now going back to the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good morning to her talkative friend, and walked away by Austin's side--Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's Delight generally, forming themes of converse. Austin raised his hat to her when they came to the gates of the yard. 'No, I am not about to part; I am going in with you,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I want to speak just a word to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will you find him for me?' 'He has been in his private room all the morning, and is probably there still,' said Austin. 'Do you know where Mr. Hunter is?' he inquired of a man whom they met. 'In his room, sir,' was the reply, as the man touched his cap to Mrs. Hunter. Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked at the door, Mrs. Hunter following him. There was no answer; and believing, in consequence, that it was empty, he opened it. Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper and pens and ink before them, and what looked like a cheque-book. They must have been deeply absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter: the other--Austin recognised him--Gwinn, the lawyer of Ketterford. 'I will not sign it!' Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. 'Five thousand pounds! it would cripple me for life.' 'Then you know the alternative. I go this moment and----' 'Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,' interposed Austin, drowning the words and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned sharply round: and when Mr. Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin. 'How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. _Who_ is this person, may I ask?' 'This lady is Mrs. Hunter,' haughtily replied Austin, after a pause, surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up the words--the offensive manner in which they were spoken--the insulting look that accompanied them. But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take anything up just then. Gwinn bent his body to the ground. 'I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter.' But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the bow, that Austin Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert irony. 'James, you are ill,' said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in her quiet, composed manner, but taking no notice whatever of the stranger. 'Can I get anything for you? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary?' 'No, don't do that; it is going off. You will oblige me by leaving us,' he whispered to her. 'I am very busy.' 'You seem too ill for business,' she rejoined. 'Can you not put it off for an hour? Rest might be of service to you.' 'No, madam, the business cannot be put off,' spoke up Lawyer Gwinn.