Honest, simple-minded Mr. Tenant! How he is chattering away to his wife, repeating again and again his encomiums on Hiram, till she is really convinced. Why should she not be? Meanwhile Hiram has reached his lodgings. He goes through with his usual devotions, and is soon sound asleep. From his composed manner it may reasonably be inferred that he has made up his mind just what course to take. CHAPTER VII. 'Mr. Meeker!' There was no answer. 'Mr. Meeker!' The accent was one of sudden distress and alarm. There was a short pause, when the call was renewed. 'Mr. Meeker!' 'What is it? What is the matter? Is anything the matter?' A slight groan. Mr. Meeker sprang from his bed as if he were a young man, and made haste to light a candle. 'My dear, are you ill?' 'I don't know. It's something strange.' Mrs. Meeker's voice sounded so unnatural that her husband hurried to the other side of the bed. He found his wife helpless, unable to change her position. Her articulation was very difficult, and her countenance presented a ghastly appearance, for one half of her appeared to be completely paralyzed. It was the work of a few moments to alarm the house and despatch a messenger for the doctor. But what could a physician avail when nature refused longer to perform her office? The doctor could investigate, and the result of his examination was most alarming. Voluntary action over one half the frame quite suspended; what was worse, there was little or no sensation. The poor woman essayed to speak from time to time, but with repulsive contortions, so that her words sounded like idiotic babble. As her husband bent over her, she seized his arm with the hand still _live_, and with distinctness said: '_Send for Hiram._' This was in time for the mail which closed in twenty minutes. * * * * * Hiram rose the morning after the long session at Mr. Tenant's house, cool and refreshed by his undisturbed slumber. Arriving at his counting room, he received, among his other correspondence, a letter, which read as follows: MY DEAR SON: Your mother has been taken alarmingly ill. Come home at once. Your affectionate father, F. MEEKER. What a load off Hiram's mind by the receipt of this brief note! The idea of a fond, devoted mother, struck down by a possibly fatal illness, did not present itself for an instant, or if it did, it was without effect on him. He breathed a deep _relieved_ respiration, while he articulated, just above a whisper, '_How very Providential!_'