Mrs. LaGrange, who, as housekeeper, had remained at Fair Oaks, seemed, as the last carriage disappeared from view, to be on the verge of collapse from nervous prostration.  No one knew the mental excitement or the terrible nervous strain which she had undergone during those last few days.  Many at the funeral had noted her extreme pallor, but no one dreamed of the tremendous will power by which she had maintained her customary haughty bearing.  When all had gone, she rose and attempted to go to her room, but in the hall she staggered helplessly and, with a low moan, sank unconscious to the floor.  The screams of the chambermaid, who had seen her fall, summoned to her assistance the other servants, who carried her to her room, where she slowly regained consciousness, opening her eyes with an expression of terror, then closing them again with a shudder.  Suddenly she seemed to recall her surroundings; with a great effort she rallied and dismissed the servants, with the exception of the chambermaid, saying, “It was nothing, only a little faintness caused by the heat.  The room was insufferably close.  Say nothing of this to the others when they return.”

With Katie’s assistance, she exchanged her heavy dress for a light wrapper of creamy silk, and soon seemed herself again except for her unusual pallor.

“That will do, Katie; I shall not need you further.  By the way, did Walter go with the others, or did he remain at home?”

“Mr. Walter is in his room, ma’am; and I heard Hardy say that he was packing up his clothes and things.”

Mrs. LaGrange betrayed no surprise, no emotion of any kind.  “Say to him that I would like to see him in my room at once.”

The girl disappeared, leaving Mrs. LaGrange to her own reflections, which seemed anything but pleasant.  The look of terror returned to her face; she clinched her hands until the jewels cut deeply into the white fingers; then, springing to her feet, she paced the room wildly until she heard the footsteps of her son approaching, when she instantly assumed her usual composure.

Walter LaGrange had left Fair Oaks immediately at the close of the inquest, and had not returned except to be present at the funeral, and even there his sullen appearance had caused general remark.  Very little love had ever existed between mother and son, for neither had a nature capable of deep affection, but never until now had there been any open rupture between them.  Though closely resembling each other, he lacked her ability to plan and execute, and had hitherto been content to follow her counsels.  But, as he now entered his mother’s room, a glance revealed to her that her authority and influence over him were past.

“You sent for me, I believe.  What do you want?” he asked, as she looked at him without speaking.

“Do you consider your conduct becoming towards a mother who is risking everything for you and your interests?”