THE next morning Harry sat in sullen silence at the breakfast-table, scarcely raising his head. Agnes and Rose, with faltering, timid voices, never ceased addressing him. They pressed upon him the food which he could not taste, they asked his opinion with tearful eyes and a visible tremor on the most trifling matters, they laid caressing hands upon his shoulders when they passed behind his chair; but these affectionate acts were very visible. They could not conceal the suppressed excitement of their great anxiety, nor their consciousness that another crisis had come in Harry’s fate. And even little Lettie stirred on her chair restlessly, like a startled bird, and felt her heart leaping at her very throat, and scarcely could speak for her parched lips and the strong beating of this same little anxious heart. And no one knew what heavy throbs beat against Martha’s breast--no longer fluttering and tremulous, but heavy as a death-knell. She said little, it is true, but still she addressed Harry sometimes as usual--as usual--perhaps with a tenderer tone--though Harry made no answer, save in monosyllables, to any of them all; and Martha very speedily rose from her place, and left the room. Another spasmodic attempt at conversation was made by Agnes and Rose, but their own hearts beat so loudly in their ears, that they trembled for Harry hearing them. Poor Harry! through those long slow moments which were hours to them, he hung idly over the table, trifling with his baby’s coral--and it was not until all endeavours at speech had failed, and a total silence--a silence of the most intense and painful excitement to his companions--had fallen upon them, that rousing himself with an effort, and putting back the hair from his damp forehead, he slowly rose and went away. Katie Calder, not understanding all this, and slightly depressed by it, had just stolen out of the room to gather up their books for school; so no one, save the wistful Lettie, was left with the young wife and Rose. They sat still for a short time in silence, eagerly listening to Harry’s footsteps as he passed through the hall to his little library, and closed the door; and then Agnes clasped her hands upon her side, and gasped for breath, and said in a voice between a cry and a whisper: “What will she say to him? Oh, what will Martha say to Harry, Rose?” “I cannot tell--I cannot tell,” said Rose, wringing her hands. “Oh, if it were only over! I could break my heart when I look at Harry--I could break my heart!” And Rose put her hands over her face in just such a passionate burst of restrained sobbing as had come upon Violet before. After some time, they heard the slow footstep of Martha coming down the stairs, and both of them ran to the door to whisper an entreaty to her to “be gentle with Harry. Poor Harry!” They could scarcely say it for tears.