Of the Austins little more can be said that has not been said already. Austin was a miserable, unhappy man; his cup of bliss--for he had every means of procuring all that this world considers as bliss, being in possession of station, wealth, and respect--was poisoned by the one heavy crime which passion had urged him to commit, and which was now a source of hourly and unavailing repentance. His son, who should have inherited his wealth, was lost to him, and he dared not mention that he was in existence. Every day Austin became more nervous and irritable, more exclusive and averse to society; he trembled at shadows, and his strong constitution was rapidly giving way to the heavy weight on his conscience. He could not sleep without opiates, and he dreaded to sleep lest he should reveal everything of the past in his slumbers. Each year added to the irascibility of his temper, and the harshness with which he treated his servants and his unhappy wife. His chief amusement was hunting, and he rode in so reckless a manner that people often thought that he was anxious to break his neck. Perhaps he was. Mrs Austin was much to be pitied; she knew how much her husband suffered; how the worm gnawed within; and, having that knowledge, she submitted to all his harshness, pitying him instead of condemning him; but her life was still more embittered by the loss of her child, and many were the bitter tears which she would shed when alone, for she dared not in her husband's presence, as he would have taken them as a reproof to himself. Her whole soul yearned after our hero, and that one feeling rendered her indifferent, not only to all the worldly advantages by which she was surrounded, but to the unkindness and hard-heartedness of her husband. Mary, who had entered her service as kitchen-maid, was very soon a favourite, and had been advanced to the situation of Mrs Austin's own attendant Mrs Austin considered her a treasure, and she daily became more partial to and more confidential with her. Such was the state of affairs, when one morning, as Austin was riding to cover, a gentleman of the neighbourhood said to him, in the course of conversation-- "By-the-bye, Austin, have you heard that you have a new neighbour?" "What!--on the Frampton estate, I suppose; I heard that it had been sold." "Yes; I have seen him. He is one of your profession--a lively, amusing sort of Irish major; gentlemanlike, nevertheless. The wife not very high-bred, but very fat, and very good-humoured, and amusing from her downright simpleness of heart. You will call upon them, I presume?" "Oh, of course," replied Austin. "What is his name did you say?" "Major McShane, formerly of the 53rd Regiment, I believe." Had a bullet passed through the heart of Austin, he could not have received a more sudden shock, and the start which he made from his saddle attracted the notice of his companion. "What's the matter, Austin, you look pale; you are not well."