“Dear Hagar, you try my patience! Come, you are taking advantage of my sympathies at this moment, to worry me; have done with it—listen to me! this administration is in its third year—I shall probably hold this office nearly two years; if the same party remain in power, I shall probably continue to hold it—in which case I shall send for you and your children.” “And you _will_ go?” “Yes, love.” “And it will be rather more than a year, nearly two years, before you return or send for us?” “Yes, love, but what is that? Officers commonly leave their wives for _three_ years at a time. Come, Hagar! do not be selfish, brace yourself to bear a little trial that is not an unusual one among your sex.” “Oh! but this is so sudden! Great God!” and Hagar, clasping her hands, left the drawing-room and went to the nursery. Raymond Withers walked up and down the two rooms, with his hands clasped behind his back, with a fixed eye and a curdled cheek, not noticing the boy who entered to clear the table, and who was watching him attentively, and who on going to the kitchen, remarked in a suppressed whisper to the cook, “Well! I never did see any man look so much as though he were making a sale of himself to the devil, as our Mr. Withers does!” CHAPTER XXXI. THE LONE ONE. What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deepest on the brow? To view each loved one blighted on life’s page, And be alone on earth—as I am now.