of apprehension. If so, he refused to notice it. It was the Lord's
business, and "He moves in a mysterious way," he hummed to himself,
waiting in the warm darkness for Samuel to call for him,--for both the
quailing men had made Dr. Lavendar's presence a condition of the
interview.

At half-past seven Mr. Wright arrived. He was in a shiny box-buggy,
behind a smart sorrel. He was dressed in his black and solemn best,
and he wore his high hat with a flat brim which only came out at
funerals. His dignity was so tremendous that his great bulk seemed to
take even more than its share of room in the buggy. When he spoke, it
was with a laboriousness that crushed the breath out of any possible
answer. As they drove up the hill he cleared his throat every few
minutes. Once he volunteered the statement that he had told Sam not to
stay late at--at--

"Oh," said Dr. Lavendar, "your father will pack him off;--he will
probably take the opportunity to call on Mrs. Richie," he added
smiling. But Sam's father did not smile. And, indeed, Dr. Lavendar's
own face was sober when they turned in between the sagging old gate-
posts at The Top.

When the moment came to get out of the buggy, Samuel looked at his
companion dumbly; a sort of paralysis seemed to hold him in his seat.
When he did move, Dr. Lavendar heard him gasp for breath, and in the
darkness, as he hitched the sorrel to a staple in one of the big
locusts, his face went white. The large manner which had dominated Old
Chester for so many years was shrinking and shrivelling; the whole man
seemed, somehow, smaller....