He sent word to Mrs. Delancey, that she would breakfast without him; and two hours passed before he again stood in the presence of his anxious wife. None might know what fearful storms, what blighting whirlwinds, what earthquakes of passion, had passed over that strong heart in those two short hours. However fierce had been the struggle, it had been conquered, not by prayer and pleading at that Throne whence all mercy flows, but by the unbending power of that strong, indomitable will. When he broke the news to Mrs. Delancey, the voice was calm and quiet, and no signs of emotion were visible. But with his wife it was different. She shrieked, and screamed, and tore her hair, and wept with a wild violence; Mr. Delancey looked upon her anguish with those same cold eyes; and when she went off in a fit of violent hysterics, he ordered her attendants to convey her to her own room, and then drove off to the store, as though nothing had happened. But what a hidden fire was scorching up the heart within! Shame and sorrow, remorse and wounded pride, all struggling and battling there, with their volcanic fires striving to burst forth, but smothered and kept down by the strength of the proud heart they lacerated. Arrived at the store, he seemed to take no notice of Wilkins' absence, but went straight to his own high desk, and sat there with his eyes looking out of the door before him. Those who knew the result of the morning trial pitied him deeply, wondering at the calmness he displayed; but Guly, who knew how much more he had suffered by the flight of his only daughter, and sole remaining child, felt for him a deep and earnest sympathy which he longed to, but dared not, express. Suddenly the merchant rose in his seat. "Gulian Pratt, if disengaged I would like to see you here." Guly bowed and advanced toward him; but it was with a heart bounding forebodingly, for he remembered he had been chiefly instrumental in getting his son convicted, and he fancied that the merchant was about to discharge him. He saw that Mr. Delancey looked ten years older than when he had seen him in the morning, and with a gush of sympathy in his warm heart, he gained the merchant's side and extended his hand. Mr. Delancey took it, and for the first time pressed it kindly. "Pardon me, sir, for touching upon a painful subject, but allow me to express the sincere sympathy I feel for you." The merchant bowed, and for an instant both were silent, Mr. Delancey sitting with his eyes looking down. "I sent for you," said he at last, speaking very quietly, and in a measured tone, "to ask you if you think yourself capable of filling the--the vacant place yonder?" "The head clerk's." "The same." "I certainly think not, sir," replied Guly, blushing; "even though I were capable--which I think I am not--it might give rise to dissatisfaction among the other clerks." "As for the dissatisfaction, that is my business. Did you ever study book-keeping?" "I have, sir."