Austen advanced to the desk, and laid the boxes before Mr. Flint.

“Mr. Vane told me to say that he would have brought these himself, had it been possible.  Here is the list, and I shall be much obliged if you will verify it before I go back.”

“Sit down.” said Mr. Flint.

Austen sat down, with the corner of the desk between them, while Mr. Flint opened the boxes and began checking off the papers on the list.

“How is your father this afternoon?” he asked, without looking up.

“As well as can be expected,” said Austen.

“Of course nobody knew his condition but himself,” Mr. Flint continued; “but it was a great shock to me—­when he resigned as my counsel three days ago.”

Austen laid his forearm on the desk, and his hand closed.

“He resigned three days ago?” he exclaimed.

Mr. Flint was surprised, but concealed it.

“I can understand, under the circumstances, how he has overlooked telling you.  His resignation takes effect to-day.”

Austen was silent a moment, while he strove to apply this fact to his father’s actions.

“He waited until after the convention.”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Flint, catching the implied accusation in Austen’s tone; “and needless to say, if I had been able to prevent his going, in view of what happened on Monday night, I should have done so.  As you know, after his—­accident, he went to the capital without informing any one.”

“As a matter of honour,” said Austen.

Mr. Flint looked up from the papers, and regarded him narrowly, for the tone in which this was spoken did not escape the president of the Northeastern.  He saw, in fact, that at the outset he had put a weapon into Austen’s hands.  Hilary’s resignation was a vindication of Austen’s attitude, an acknowledgment that the business and political practices of his life had been wrong.

What Austen really felt, when he had grasped the significance of that fact, was relief—­gratitude.  A wave of renewed affection for his father swept over him, of affection and pity and admiration, and for the instant he forgot Mr. Flint.

“As a matter of honour,” Mr. Flint repeated.  “Knowing he was ill, Mr. Vane insisted upon going to that convention, even at the risk of his life.  It is a fitting close to a splendid career, and one that will not soon be forgotten.”

Austen merely looked at Mr. Flint, who may have found the glance a trifle disconcerting, for he turned to the papers again.

“I repeat,” he went on presently, “that this illness of Mr. Vane’s is not only a great loss to the Northeastern system, but a great blow to me personally.  I have been associated with him closely for more than a quarter of a century, and I have never seen a lawyer of greater integrity, clear-headedness, and sanity of view.  He saw things as they were, and he did as much to build up the business interests and the prosperity of this State as any man I know of.  He was true to his word, and true to his friends.”