ding physician, who could give him no hope. When 'Frank' came, _he_
would know all about it. And so he did, but his knowledge could bring no
comfort--only a confirmation of what had already been announced.

'She can't recover, father. She can't recover,' and the stout man began
to sob. In the presence of his parent he was again a child, and the
latter instinctively became consoler. Mr. Meeker, as we have intimated,
though old, was not infirm, and it was a curious sight to witness his
efforts to comfort his boy, while he himself so much more required
sympathy.

* * * * *

So the day passed. The next morning Dr. Frank was obliged to return to
the city, for his patients demanded his presence. He first had a
consultation with the attending physician. Nothing remained for Mrs.
Meeker but wearisome days and nights till death should release her, and
all that a medical man could do was to make her as comfortable as
possible.

There was a small room adjoining the one where Mrs. Meeker lay, which
Hiram took possession of. It had a pleasant window looking out on the
garden, and it contained a small cot bedstead, besides a table and
chairs. Here Hiram spent most of his time busily occupied. By every mail
he received letters from New York, detailing with minuteness just what
took place in his affairs from day to day. In short, his private office
was moved from New York to Hampton, and the only apparent inconvenience
was that he did business at arm's length, as they say. Daily came a
letter from Hill, although Hill was not in Hiram's counting room. Daily
was an answer returned.

There was some one else who wrote Hiram just as regularly. Among the
business letters, written in various hands and on various kinds of
paper, could always be seen a small, neatly folded sheet, having a
refined and delicate superscription. It was from Emma Tenant. She had
forgotten all that was unpleasant and disagreeable in their last
interview, on receiving her lover's hurried-_looking_ scrawl, and, as if
by a sudden rebound, her sympathies were roused to an extraordinary
degree for 'poor Hiram--dear Hiram,' whom she 'treated so coldly' the
last time they met. I need not say her notes were full of the most
tender sympathy and condolence.

These letters bored Hiram exceedingly. The second day after reaching
Hampton he had written Emma another of his hastily got up epistles,
which contained just six lines, stating that he