At half-past seven Mr. Wright arrived. He was in a shiny box-buggy, behind a smart sorrel. He was dressed in his black and solemn best, and he wore his high hat with a flat brim which only came out at funerals. His dignity was so tremendous that his great bulk seemed to take even more than its share of room in the buggy. When he spoke, it was with a laboriousness that crushed the breath out of any possible answer. As they drove up the hill he cleared his throat every few minutes. Once he volunteered the statement that he had told Sam not to stay late at--at-- "Oh," said Dr. Lavendar, "your father will pack him off;--he will probably take the opportunity to call on Mrs. Richie," he added smiling. But Sam's father did not smile. And, indeed, Dr. Lavendar's own face was sober when they turned in between the sagging old gate-posts at The Top. When the moment came to get out of the buggy, Samuel looked at his companion dumbly; a sort of paralysis seemed to hold him in his seat. When he did move, Dr. Lavendar heard him gasp for breath, and in the darkness, as he hitched the sorrel to a staple in one of the big locusts, his face went white. The large manner which had dominated Old Chester for so many years was shrinking and shrivelling; the whole man seemed, somehow, smaller.... Benjamin Wright, in his mangy beaver hat, sitting quaking in his library, heard their steps on the veranda. As soon as supper was over, he had dismissed his rejoicing grandson, and long before it was necessary, had bidden Simmons light the lamps; but as night fell, it occurred to him that darkness would make things easier, and in a panic, he shuffled about and blew them all out. A little later, he had a surge of terror; he couldn't bear _that voice_ in the dark! "You! Simmons!" he called across the hall. "Light the lamps!" "I done lit 'em, suh--" Simmons expostulated from the pantry, and then looked blankly at the black doorway of the library. "I 'clare to goodness, they's gone out," he mumbled to himself; and came in, to stand on one leg and scratch a match on the sole of his carpet slipper. "Don't light all four, you stupid nigger!" the old man screamed at him. When Simmons left him he lit a cigar, his fingers trembling very much; it went out almost at once, and he threw it away and took another. Just as he heard that ponderous step on the veranda, he took a third--[Illustration: Samuel slid into a chair near the door.] but only to throw it, too, still smouldering, into the empty fireplace. Dr. Lavendar came in first. His face was very grave; he made no conventional pretence of ease. Behind him, in the doorway, loomed the other figure. Out in the hall, Simmons, his bent old back flattened against the wall, his jaw chattering with amazement, stood, clutching at the door-knob and staring after the visitors. "Come in!" said, Benjamin Wright. "Hello, Lavendar. Hello--"