but the
attempt failed miserably. Long, blank pauses occurred in the
conversation; general topics were started, but never pursued; it was
more like an assembly of strangers, than a meeting of friends; people
neither ate nor drank, as they were accustomed to eat and drink; they
talked in altered voices, and sat with unusual stillness, even in the
same positions. Relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all alike
perceived that some great domestic catastrophe had happened; all
foreboded that some serious, if not fatal, explanation of Mr.
Streatfield's conduct would ensue: and it was vain and hopeless--a very
mockery of self-possession--to attempt to shake off the sinister and
chilling influences that recent events had left behind them, and resume
at will the thoughtlessness and hilarity of ordinary life.

Still, however, Mr. Langley persisted in doing the honors of his table,
in proceeding doggedly through all the festive ceremonies of the hour,
until the ladies rose and retired. Then, after looking at his watch, he
beckoned to one of his sons to take his place; and quietly left the
room. He only stopped once, as he crossed the hall, to ask news of his
daughter from one of the servants. The reply was, that she had had a
hysterical fit; that the medical attendant of the family had been sent
for; and that since his arrival she had become more composed. When the
man had spoken, Mr. Langley made no remark, but proceeded at once to the
library. He locked the door behind him, as soon as he entered the room.

Mr. Streatfield was already waiting there--he was seated at the table,
endeavoring to maintain an appearance of composure, by mechanically
turning over the leaves of the books before him. Mr. Langley drew a
chair near him; and in low, but very firm tones, began the conversation
thus:--

"I have given you two hours, sir, to collect yourself, to consider your
position fully--I presume, therefore, that you are now prepared to favor
me with an explanation of your conduct at my table, to-day."

"What explanation can I make?--what can I say, or think of this most
terrible of fatalities?" exclaimed Mr. Streatfield, speaking faintly and
confusedly; and still not looking up--"There has been an unexampled
error committed!--a fatal mistake, which I could never have anticipated,
and over which I had no control!"

"Enough, sir, of the language of romance," interrupted Mr. Langley,
coldly; "I am neither of an age nor a disposition to