“Thank you, old friend, for not insulting me,” said Bassett, in a broken voice. Wheeler took his hand, and turned away his head, and so went away, with a tear in his eye. A fortnight after this he came again, and found Bassett in the same attitude, but not in the same leaden stupor. On the contrary, he was in a state of tremor; he had lost, under the late blow, the sanguine mind that used to carry him through everything. The doctor was upstairs, and his wife's fate trembled in the balance. “Stay by me,” said he, “for all my nerve is gone. I'm afraid I shall lose her; for I have just begun to value her; and that is how God deals with his creatures--the merciful God, as they call him.” Wheeler thought it rather hard God Almighty should be blamed because Dick Bassett had taken eight years to find out his wife's merit; but he forbore to say so. He said kindly that he would stay. Now while they sat in trying suspense the church-bells struck up a merry peal. Bassett started violently and his eyes gave a strange glare. “That's the other!” said he; for he had heard about Lady Bassett by this time. Then he turned pale. “They ring for him: then they are sure to toll for me.” This foreboding was natural enough in a man so blinded by egotism as to fancy that all creation, and the Creator himself, must take a side in Bassett _v._ Bassett. Nevertheless, events did not justify that foreboding. The bells had scarcely done ringing for the happy event at Huntercombe, when joyful feet were heard running on the stairs; joyful voices clashed together in the passage, and in came a female servant with joyful tidings. Mrs. Bassett was safe, and the child in the world. “The loveliest little girl you ever saw!” “A girl!” cried Richard Bassett with contemptuous amazement. Even his melancholy forebodings had not gone that length. “And what have they got at Huntercombe?” “Oh, it is a boy, sir, there.” “Of course.” The ringers heard, and sent one of their number to ask him if they should ring. “What for?” asked Bassett with a nasty glittering eye; and then with sudden fury he seized a large piece of wood from the basket to fling at his insulter. “I'll teach you to come and mock me.” The ringer vanished, ducking. “Gently,” said Wheeler, “gently.” Bassett chucked the wood back into the basket, and sat down gloomily, saying, “Then how dare he come and talk about ringing bells for a girl? To think that I should have all this fright, and my wife all this trouble--for a girl!” It was no time to talk of business then; but about a fortnight afterward Wheeler said, “I took the detective off, to save you expense.” “Quite right,” said Bassett, wearily. “I gave you the woman's address; so the matter is in your hands now, I consider.” “Yes,” said Bassett, wearily; “Move no further in it.” “Certainly not; and, frankly, I should be glad to see you abandon it.”