papers, with a sense of unusual depression in the atmosphere. It was a
gray, dull, cheerless afternoon, and more than one of us, looking out
at the mud bank, which, at low water, then occupied the space now laid
out as gardens, wondered how River Hall, desolate, tenantless,
uninhabited, looked under that sullen sky, with the murky river flowing
onward, day and night, day and night, leaving, unheeding, an unsolved
mystery on its banks.

For a week we saw nothing of Miss Blake, but at the end of that time, in
consequence of a somewhat imperative summons from Mr. Craven, she called
at the office late one afternoon. We comprehended she had selected that,
for her, unusual time of day for a visit, hoping our principal might
have left ere she arrived; but in this hope she was disappointed: Mr.
Craven was in, at leisure, and anxious to see her.

I shall never forget that interview. Miss Blake arrived about five
o'clock, when it was quite dark out of doors, and when, in all our
offices except Mr. Craven's, the gas was flaring away triumphantly. In
his apartment he kept the light always subdued, but between the fire and
the lamp there was plenty of light to see that Miss Blake looked ill and
depressed, and that Mr. Craven had assumed a peculiar expression, which,
to those who knew him best, implied he had made up his mind to pursue a
particular course of action, and meant to adhere to his determination.

"You wanted to see me," said our client, breaking the ice.

"Yes; I wanted to tell you that our connection with the River Hall
property must be considered at an end."

"Well, well, that is the way of men, I suppose--in England."