But the old man, usually so acquiescent in all that his partner said, turned round on him, on this occasion, in a fury. ‘Don’t preach to me, Hindes!’ he exclaimed, angrily. ‘It’s all very well for you to talk of trusting in God, whilst your own kids are safe at home, but lose five, my boy, lose five--three boys and two girls--and set all your hopes and chances of happiness on the remaining one, and have her murdered before your eyes, and then talk of trusting in God. You’re a hypocrite, sir, a d--d hypocrite.’ ‘Mr Crampton,’ said Henry Hindes, deeply wounded, ‘I never thought to hear you speak to me like this.’ ‘For shame, John, for shame!’ exclaimed his wife, rousing herself for a moment. ‘What are you thinking of? Mr Hindes, too, who loved our darling almost as if she had been his own child, and who has always been so kind to her and us all.’ ‘Ah, well, well,’ said the old man in a tired voice, ‘I suppose I was wrong, and I ask your pardon for it, Hindes. But I don’t seem to quite know what I am saying. My head keeps going round so. I suppose you are right, and I should be better by myself for a few hours. Give me your arm, and take me to my own room. I leave this gentleman in your hands, Hindes. See that he is attended to, and arrange everything for our going down to Dover. Good-morning, sir!’ and with that Mr Crampton rose, and, leaning on the arm of his friend, quitted the apartment. There was a less difficult task with the women, whose sorrow was too deep for words. Then Dr M‘Coll agreed with Mr Hindes that they had better travel down to Dover by an early train on the morrow, as every endeavour was being made to have the inquest on that day, on account of the hot weather rendering it desirable to get the burial over as quickly as possible. Hindes shuddered at the thought, but showed no emotion beyond that which was evinced by his white face and silent demeanour. Luncheon was then served for the doctor, and he departed to interview Mr Philip Walcheren on the matter, when Henry Hindes was free to return home. Here, as may be imagined, he had a difficult task before him, but he felt freer, for, in the presence of his wife, who had loved Jenny Crampton so dearly, he was not ashamed to break down himself, and give some relief to his overcharged feelings. Hannah’s grief was extreme, but she tried to curb it for the sake of her husband, who only rose in her estimation for the tears and moans which he felt he might indulge in at last. Both husband and wife had quite exhausted themselves with their emotion, when a servant entered to announce that a constable desired to speak to his master. Hannah could not help observing how vividly white Henry became at this intimation. She could not understand it, unless the sad events of the day had so undermined his usual intrepidity as to make him start at shadows.