Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped inside Mrs. Quale's, who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the Shucks, and prophesying that their destiny would be the workhouse, when Austin Clay came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was now going back to the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good morning to her talkative friend, and walked away by Austin's side—Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's Delight generally, forming themes of converse. Austin raised his hat to her when they came to the gates of the yard.

'No, I am not about to part; I am going in with you,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I want to speak just a word to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will you find him for me?'

'He has been in his private room all the morning, and is probably there still,' said Austin. 'Do you know where Mr. Hunter is?' he inquired of a man whom they met.

'In his room, sir,' was the reply, as the man touched his cap to Mrs. Hunter.

Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked at the door, Mrs. Hunter following him. There was no answer; and believing, in consequence, that it was empty, he opened it.

Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper and pens and ink before them, and what looked like a cheque-book. They must have been deeply absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter: the other—Austin recognised him—Gwinn, the lawyer of Ketterford. 'I will not sign it!' Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. 'Five thousand pounds! it would cripple me for life.'

'Then you know the alternative. I go this moment and——'

'Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,' interposed Austin, drowning the words and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned sharply round: and when Mr. Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin.

'How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. Who is this person, may I ask?'

'This lady is Mrs. Hunter,' haughtily replied Austin, after a pause, surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up the words—the offensive manner in which they were spoken—the insulting look that accompanied them. But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take anything up just then.

Gwinn bent his body to the ground.

'I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter.'

But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the bow, that Austin Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert irony.

'James, you are ill,' said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in her quiet, composed manner, but taking no notice whatever of the stranger. 'Can I get anything for you? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary?'

'No, don't do that; it is going off. You will oblige me by leaving us,' he whispered to her. 'I am very busy.'

'You seem too ill for business,' she rejoined. 'Can you not put it off for an hour? Rest might be of service to you.'

'No, madam, the business cannot be put off,' spoke up Lawyer Gwinn.

And down he sat in a chair, with a determined air of conscious power—just as his sister had sat herself down, a fortnight before, in Mr. Hunter's hall.

Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, leaving her husband and the stranger in it. Austin followed her. Her face wore a puzzled, vexed look, as she turned it upon Austin. 'Who is that person?' she asked. 'His manner to me appeared to be strangely insolent.'

An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have accounted had he tried, caused him to suppress the fact that it was the brother of the Miss Gwinn who had raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. He answered that he had not seen the person at the office previously, his tone being as careless a one as he could assume. And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the least suspicious nature possible, let it pass. Her mind, too, was filled with the thought of her husband's suffering state.

'Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill?' she asked of Austin, somewhat abruptly.

'He looked so, I think.'

'Not now; I am not alluding to the present moment,' she rejoined. 'Have you noticed before that he does not seem well?'

'Yes,' replied Austin; 'this week or two past.'

There was a brief pause.

'Mr. Clay,' she resumed, in a quiet, kind voice, 'my health, as you are aware, is not good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me much. I am going to ask you a confidential question. I would not put it to many, and the asking it of you proves that my esteem for you is great. That Mr. Hunter is ill, there is no doubt; but whether mentally or bodily I am unable to discover. To me he observes a most unusual reticence, his object probably being to spare me pain; but I can battle better with a known evil than with an unknown one. Tell me, if you can, whether any vexation has arisen in business matters?'

'Not that I am aware of,' promptly replied Austin. 'I feel sure that nothing is amiss in that quarter.'

'Then it is as I suspected, and he must be suffering from some illness that he is concealing.'

She wished Austin good morning. He saw her out of the gate, and then proceeded to the room he usually occupied when engaged indoors. Presently he heard Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, and saw the latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came into the room.

'Is Mrs. Hunter gone?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Do you know what she wanted?'

'I do not think it was anything particular. She said she should like to say a word to you, if you were disengaged.'

Mr. Hunter did not speak immediately. Austin was making out certain estimates, and his master looked over his shoulder. Not to look; his mind was evidently all pre-occupied.

'Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that was with me?' he presently said.

'She inquired, sir. I did not say. I told her I had not seen the person here before.'

'You knew?' in a quick, sharp accent.

'Oh, yes.'

'Then why did you not tell her? What was your motive for concealing it?'

The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not be construed as proceeding from any emotion but that of fear. A flush came into Austin's ingenuous face.

'I beg your pardon, sir. I never wish to be otherwise than open. But, as you had previously desired me not to speak of the lady who came to your house that night, I did not know but the same wish might apply to the visit of to-day.'

'True, true,' murmured Mr. Hunter; 'I do not wish this visit of the man's spoken of. Never mention his name, especially to Mrs. Hunter. I suppose he did not impose upon me,' added he, with a poor attempt at a forced smile: 'it was Gwinn, of Ketterford, was it not?'

'Certainly,' said Austin, feeling surprised. 'Did you not know him previously, sir?'

'Never. And I wish I had not known him now.'

'If—if—will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should you have any transaction with him, touching money matters, it is necessary to be wary. Many a one has had cause to rue the getting into the clutches of Lawyer Gwinn.'

A deep, heavy sigh, burst from Mr. Hunter. He had turned from Austin. The latter spoke again in his ardent sympathy.

'Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you?—any way? You have only to command me.'

'No, no, Clay. I fell into that man's clutches—as you have aptly termed it—years ago, and the penalty must be paid. There is no help for it.'

'Not knowing him, sir?'

'Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed it, as I certainly did not know, until a week or two back. I no more suspected that—that I was indebted there, than I was indebted to you.'

Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused and agitated, and the dew was rising on his livid face. He made a hollow attempt to laugh it off, and seemed to shun the gaze of his clerk.

'This comes of the freaks of young men,' he observed, facing Austin after a pause, and speaking volubly. 'Austin Clay, I will give you a piece of advice. Never put your hand to a bill. You may think it an innocent bit of paper, which can cost you at most but the sum that is marked upon it: but it may come back to you in after years, and you must purchase it with thousands. Have nothing to do with bills, in any way; they will be a thorn in your side.'

'So, it is a money affair!' thought Austin. 'I might have known it was nothing else, where Gwinn was concerned. Here's Dr. Bevary coming in, sir,' he added aloud.

The physician was inside the room ere the words had left Austin's lips. Mr. Hunter had seized upon a stray plan, and seemed bent upon its examination.

'Rather a keen-looking customer, that, whom I met at your gate,' began the doctor. 'Who was it?'

'Keen-looking customer?' repeated Mr. Hunter.

'A fellow dressed in black, with a squint and a white neckerchief; an ill-favoured fellow, whoever he is.'

'How should I know about him?' replied Mr. Hunter, carelessly. 'Somebody after the men, I suppose.'

But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter did know; that the description could only apply to Gwinn of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm within his brother-in-law's, and led him from the room.

'James, do you want doctoring?' he inquired, as they entered the one just vacated by Lawyer Gwinn.

'No, I don't. What do you mean?'

'If you don't, you belie your looks; that's all. Can you honestly affirm to me that you are in robust health?'

'I am in good health. There is nothing the matter with me.'

'Then there's something else in the wind. What's the trouble?'

A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter.

'I am in no trouble that you can relieve; I am quite well. I repeat that I do not understand your meaning.'

The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone changed to one of solemn earnestness.

'James, I suspect that you are in trouble. Now, I do not wish to pry into it unnecessarily; but I would remind you of the sound wisdom that lies in the good old proverb: "In the multitude of counsellors there is safety."'

'And if there is?' returned Mr. Hunter.

'If you will confide the trouble to me, I will do what I can to help you out of it—whatever it may be—to advise with you as to what is best to be done. I am your wife's brother; could you have a truer friend?'

'You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. When I am, I will let you know.'

The tone—one of playful mockery—grated on the ear of Dr. Bevary.

'Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray?' thought he.

Mr. Hunter cut the matter short by crossing the yard to the time-keeper's office; and Dr. Bevary went out talking to himself: 'A wilful man must have his own way.'

Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading one of the quarterly reviews; he let the time slip by till the clock struck twelve. Mr. and Mrs. Quale had been in bed some time; when nothing was wanted for Mr. Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early to bed, and early to rise, was a maxim she was fond of, both in precept and practice. The striking of the church clock aroused him; he closed the book, left it on the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and opened the window to look out at the night before going into his chamber.

A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the heavens, and Daffodil's Delight, for aught that could be heard or seen just then, seemed almost as peaceful as they. Austin leaned from the window; his thoughts ran not upon the stars or upon the peaceful scene around, but upon the curious trouble which seemed to be overshadowing Mr. Hunter. 'Five thousand pounds!' His ears had caught distinctly the ominous sum. 'Could he have fallen into Lawyer Gwinn's "clutches" to that extent?'

There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. Mr. Hunter had hinted at 'bills;' Miss Gwinn had spoken of the 'breaking up of her happy home;' two calamities apparently distinct and apart. And how was it that they were in ignorance of his name, his existence, his——

A startling interruption came to Austin's thoughts. Mrs. Shuck's door was pulled hastily open, and some one panting with excitement, uttering faint, sobbing cries, came running down their garden into Peter Quale's. It was Mary Baxendale. She knocked sharply at the door with nervous quickness.

'What is it, Mary?' asked Austin.

She had not seen him; but, of course, the words caused her to look up. 'Oh! sir,' the tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke, 'would you please call Mrs. Quale, and ask her to step in? Mother's on the wing.'

'I'll call her. Mary!'—for she was speeding back again—'can I get any other help for you? If I can be of use, step back and tell me.'

Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, and went flying up Daffodil's Delight. He had gone for Dr. Bevary. The doctor had desired to be called, should there be any sudden change. Of course, he did not mean the change of death. He could be of no use in that; but how could they discriminate?

Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick chamber with all speed. Dr. Bevary was not long before he followed her. Neighbours on either side put their heads out.

Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary was out again. Austin was then leaning over Peter Quale's gate. He had been in no urgent mood for bed before, and this little excitement, though it did not immediately concern him, afforded an excuse for not going to it.

'How is she, sir?'

'Is it you?' responded Dr. Bevary. 'She is gone. I thought it would be sudden at the last.'

'Poor thing!' ejaculated Austin.

'Poor thing? Ay, that's what we are all apt to say when our friends die. But there is little cause when the change has been prepared for, the spirit made ripe for heaven. She's gone to a world where there's neither sickness nor pain.'

Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke again after a pause.

'Clay—to go from a solemn subject to one that—that may, however, prove not less solemn in the end—you heard me mention a stranger I met at the gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter would not take my question. Was it Gwinn of Ketterford?'

The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, laying his hand, in his earnestness, on Austin's shoulder. Austin paused. He did not know whether he ought to answer.

'You need not hesitate,' said the doctor, divining his scruples. 'I can understand that Mr. Hunter may have forbidden you to mention it, and that you would be faithful to him. Don't speak; your very hesitation has proved it to me. Good night, my young friend; we would both serve him if we only knew how.'

Austin watched him away, and then went indoors, for Daffodil's Delight began to be astir, and to collect itself around him, Sam Shuck having assisted in spreading the news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil's Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, and issuing forth in shawls and pantaloons upon any rising emergency, regarding such interludes of disturbed rest as socially agreeable.