He heard the scream of the engine as it stopped at the station, heard it as it went on, heard the ‘bus as it passed the church with the mail, which he saw in fancy opened in the office, and saw the letters put into his drawer—four of them—he could have sworn there were four, but only one had any interest for him, and that lay on the top. He did not know whether he were in a trance or not, with a gift for far-seeing. He only knew he was at the office and at the church, too. He was very conscious of that last fact, and conducted himself becomingly—stood when he ought to stand, bowed his head when he ought to bow it, and dropped his silver dollar on the plate with a thud, which made the judge, who was passing it, frown disapprovingly. “Blowing his own trumpet—thinks, maybe, he is setting me an example,” he thought, as he placed his quarter more quietly upon the plate. Church was out at last, and Mr. Grey was among the first to reach the door. “Take us to the post-office,” he said to his coachman, who, with the smart carriage and prancing bays, was waiting for him. Joe touched his hat and drove to the post-office where the mail was distributing. Mrs. Grey and Louie did not alight, but waited while Mr. Grey went in, unlocked his drawer, and found, as he had expected, four letters, the one on the top bearing the New York postmark and directed in the handwriting he knew so well. He could not wait till he reached home before knowing the truth, and, tearing open the envelope, he read that his worst fears were fulfilled. There was no hope from any quarter. He was absolutely ruined, and for a moment everything turned black, and he felt blindly for something to lean upon. There was a deadly nausea at his stomach, and the people’s voices sounded like the hum of a swarm of bees which once settled on a tree over his head when he was a boy. Then he rallied, and wondered that he could be so calm—that he didn’t feel anything. Something had benumbed him completely, so that his head was just as erect and his smile as pleasant as of old, as he made his way through the crowd and out to the street, where his high-mettled horses were pawing the road, anxious to be off. Two or three times he stopped to speak to people—to Godfrey Sheldon, and Nancy Sharp. She went to the office for the excitement, rather than because she expected anything. The sight of Mr. Sheldon gave him a twinge, but Nancy’s money was safe and his “Hallo, Nancy!” was more hearty than usual. “Hallo, Mr. Grey! Will you be wantin’ your bank cleaned this week?” was Nancy’s rejoinder. “Perhaps so. I’ll let you know,” Mr. Grey replied, as he walked past her to his brougham, where Herbert White stood talking to Louie of a moonlight sail on the river the next night, and saying he should call for her at half-past seven. Mr. Grey had suspected that there was, or might be something serious between the young man and his daughter, and he found himself wondering if the trouble would end it.