'Tea!' repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were bewildered; 'I cannot go in again to-night; I cannot see them. Make some excuse for me, Clay—anything. Why did that woman work me this crying wrong?'
He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it after him with a bang, leaving Austin in wondering consternation.
He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. Hunter had been obliged to go out on business; he did not know what else to say. Florence was sent to bed after tea, but Austin sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. Something led back to the previous conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had been alluding to her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her daily portion.
'What is it?' said Austin, in his impulsive manner.
'The thought that I shall have to leave Florence without a mother.'
'Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as that! You may get better.'
'Yes; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I shall. But, you see, the very fear of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me to it by slow degrees.'
Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, he passed a piece of clear ground, to be let for building purposes, at the end of the square. There, in its darkest corner, far back from the road, paced a man as if in some mental agony, his hat carried in his hands, and his head bared to the winds. Austin peered through the night with his quick sight, and recognised Mr. Hunter.