Alex sat down with involuntary quickness; then he threw his legs out in front of him and thrust his hands down into his pockets. "Dr. Lavendar, this is our affair. I'm obliged to you for your kind intentions; but this is our affair. You've told your news, and we have listened respectfully--if I should say gladly you might be shocked. So I only say respectfully. But you have spoken; we have listened. That is all there is to it. The thing is finished. The book is closed. I say thank God! I don't know what my father says. If he takes my advice, for I've been a good son to him; I never gave him any cause to be ashamed;--if he takes my advice, he'll forget the whole affair. That's what I mean to do. The book is closed. I shall never think of it again." He got up and walked about with affectation of vast indifference. "Alex, you will probably never think of anything else," Dr. Lavendar said, half pitifully; and then, sternly, again: "I can't make you accept the opportunity that still is open to you; but I will point it out to you: Come up to Mercer to-morrow with your father and me." "Mercer!" the younger man cried out, furiously; "you mean to see her buried? To dance on her grave and pull the man out and spit in his face and--" He stopped, his face suddenly purpling, his light eyes staring and rolling; then he stumbled and jerked himself together, and lurched forward into a chair, breathing loudly. The two old men, trembling with horror, ran to him. "Oh, Edward," John Gordon said--"oh, Edward, why did you rouse him? He can't speak of it, he can't think of it. Alex--there!--we'll say no more about it." [Illustration: "LURCHED FORWARD INTO A CHAIR, BREATHING LOUDLY"] Alex stared at them with glassy eyes, in silence; his father kept bemoaning himself and imploring his old friend to say no more. "You won't speak of it again, Edward? He goes out of his head with rage. Promise me not to speak of it any more." "No, John; no," Dr. Lavendar said, sadly; and as Alex's eyes cleared into bewildered consciousness, the old minister stood a little aside while the father helped the son to his feet and led him away. When he came back, shuffling feebly down the long, darkening room, Dr. Lavendar was still sitting by the fire. "He's quiet now; I--I think he's ashamed. I hope so. But he won't come out of his room." Dr. Lavendar nodded. John Gordon spread his purple handkerchief over his white locks, with shaking hands, and then sat down, tumbling back in his chair in a forlorn heap. "Edward," he said, feebly, "tell me about it. It was on Thursday? Had she been sick long?" Then, in a low voice, "She--didn't lack for comforts?" "No; I think not. The man was as tender with her as--as you might have been. She was sick--I mean in bed--two weeks. She had been ailing for a long time; you remember I spoke to you about it about a month ago. And again last week." "You--saw her?" "Yes." "More than once?"