Volume 4 — CHAPTER VIII.

Mrs. Meeker died the next week.

The funeral took place on the day which had been fixed for Hiram's marriage with Emma Tenant. After it was over, William Meeker removed with his wife from the small house to live with his father, and we will say here that both contributed much to make Mr. Meeker's latter days happy.

Hiram did not wait an hour, but took the stage the same afternoon, while Dr. Frank remained with his father over the next day.

One morning, two or three days after his return, Hiram presented himself at the house and inquired for Mrs. Tenant. On this occasion he was cased in a complete suit of the deepest black, with crape reaching to the very top of his hat. He was the picture of despairing grief.

It happened that Emma was not at home, so that Mrs. Tenant was not surprised that she should be sent for. She did not know Hiram had not inquired for her daughter. She came in with the impression that he was all that he should be; his failure to write often being thought quite excusable under the circumstances.

She had not, however, advanced three steps into the room before feeling there was something wrong.

Hiram, regarded in a certain light, presented a most comical, though most lugubrious appearance. He was so completely acting a part that his very looks and gestures, and, in short, the minutest movements of his body, were manifestly 'got up.' One would think an automaton had been employed and set to work to do a certain amount of mourning, and furnish the requisite quantity of family grief.

Nevertheless Mrs. Tenant advanced and greeted Hiram cordially.

He put out the tips of his fingers, produced his pocket handkerchief, as if to be ready for an overflow, but uttered no word, no articulate sound.

This continued for at least five minutes, Mrs. Tenant endeavoring to say something the while by way of condolence.

'I shall never recover from the shock,' at last he ejaculated; 'never!'

He did not look Mrs. Tenant in the face, but kept his eyes fixed on vacancy.

'I am very sorry Emma is not in, but you will not have to wait long,' remarked Mrs. Tenant at last.

'I do not think I shall be able to see her,' said Hiram, with a groan.

'Not see her; not see Emma? Why, what do you mean?' exclaimed the mother, now fully roused.

'This is no period to devote myself to things of time and sense. I feel that all my thoughts should be centred on eternity.'

[You should have seen the activity Hiram had been displaying in his counting room since his return.]

This was enough for Mrs. Tenant. She understood him now, and determined to bring matters at once to a crisis.

'Mr. Meeker,' she said, 'will you be so kind as to step with me into the library a few moments?'

Hiram acquiesced.

She rang the bell, and said to the servant:

'When Miss Tenant comes in, request her to go to my room, and wait for me there.

'Now, Mr. Meeker,' she said, as soon as they were seated, 'let me ask you a plain question: Is it your intention to break your engagement with my daughter?'

'Really, ma'am, I do not wish to speak on the subject at present,' whispered Hiram, looking at the crape on his hat.

'But you must, you shall speak. Do you think you can trifle with me, sir?'

Hiram was silent.

'Speak! I say. Do you intend to keep your engagement with my daughter?'

Thus invoked, Hiram murmured something about—'under the circumstances'—his 'great affliction'—'change in your own family'—'business troubles'—'not sure of his own situation'—'perhaps it would be best not to consider it a positive engagement'—'that is, for the present'—'after a season should'—

The street-door bell rang, and Mrs. Tenant heard not another word. Her heart scarcely beat as she listened to the footsteps of the old servant along the hall. Agitated by a rush of tumultuous emotions, she was unable to breathe during the short parley between Emma and the domestic.

At length she heard the welcome sound of Emma's step up the staircase, and she drew a long full breath of relief. Then she started up and rang the bell sharply, yes, furiously, and remained standing till the servant, with quickened pace, came in.

'William, show Mr. Meeker the door.'

Hiram sprang to his feet. He did not like the general look matters were assuming.

'Go,' said Mrs. Tenant, pointing to the entrance.

In less than a quarter of a minute Hiram was walking down the street.

'It is over with me, anyhow,' he muttered.

But for once in his life he felt very small. 'To be turned out of doors by a woman; still, nobody will know it.' He was soon busy in his counting room, examining one of Hill's invoices.

Mrs. Tenant threw herself on the sofa, and was apparently lost in thought for several minutes. Then she rose and went to her daughter.