Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her ears needlessly cruel—out of place. Mr. Hunter bent his face on that of the dead, with a long, fervent kiss. 'My wronged wife!' he mentally uttered. Dr. Bevary followed him as he left the room.
'James Hunter, it had been a mercy for you had she been taken years ago.'
Mr. Hunter lifted his hands as if beating off the words, and his face turned white. 'Be still! be still! what can you know?'
'I know as much as you,' said Dr. Bevary, in a tone which, low though it was, seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of the unhappy man. 'The knowledge has disturbed my peace by day, and my rest by night. What, then, must it have done by yours?'
James Hunter, his hands held up still to shade his face, and his head down, turned away. 'It was the fault of another,' he wailed, 'and I have borne the punishment.'
'Ay,' said Dr. Bevary, 'or you would have had my reproaches long ago. Hark! whose voice is that?' It was one known only too well to Mr. Hunter. He cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had terrible cause to do: the next, he raised his head, and shook off the fear.
'I can dare him now,' he bravely said, turning to the stairs with a cleared countenance, to meet Gwinn of Ketterford.
He had obtained entrance in this way. The servants were closing up the windows of the house, and one of them had gone outside to tell the gossiping servant of a neighbour that their good lady and ever kind mistress was dead, when the lawyer arrived. He saw what was being done, and drew his own conclusions. Nevertheless, he desisted not from the visit he had come to pay.
'I wish to see Mr. Hunter,' he said, while the door stood open.
'I do not think you can see him now, sir,' was the reply of the servant. 'My master is in great affliction.'