generation, at least--in this generation!" It may be
doubted whether he would ever have loved his book with such jealous
fondness if it had gone through a dozen editions, and everybody was
quoting it to his face. But now it lived only for him; and to him it was
wife and child, parent, friend, all in one, as Hector was all in all to
his spouse. He never tired of it, and in his more sanguine moods he
looked forward to the time when the world would acknowledge its merits,
and his genius would find full recognition. Perhaps he was right: more
than one book which seemed dead and was dead for contemporary readers has
had a resurrection when the rivals who triumphed over it lived only in
the tombstone memory of antiquaries. Comfort for some of us, dear
fellow-writer.

It followed from the way in which he lived that he must have some means
of support upon which he could depend. He was economical, if not over
frugal in some of his habits; but he bought books, and took newspapers
and reviews, and had money when money was needed; the fact being, though
it was not generally known, that a distant relative had not long before
died, leaving him a very comfortable property.

His money matters had led him to have occasional dealings with the late
legal firm of Wibird and Penhallow, which had naturally passed into the
hands of the new partnership, Penhallow and Bradshaw. He had entire
confidence in the senior partner, but not so much in the young man who
had been recently associated in the business.

Mr. William Murray Bradshaw, commonly called by his last two names, was
the son of a lawyer of some note for his acuteness, who marked out his
calling for him in having him named after the great Lord Mansfield.
Murray Bradshaw was about twenty-five years old, by common consent
good-looking, with a finely formed head, a searching eye, and a sharp-cut
mouth, which smiled at his bidding without the slightest reference to the
real condition of his feeling at the moment. This was a great
convenience; for it gave him an appearance of good-nature at the small
expense of a slight muscular movement which was as easy as winking, and
deceived everybody but those who had studied him long and carefully
enough to find that this play of his features was what a watch maker
would call a detached movement.

He had been a good scholar in college, not so much by hard study as by
skilful veneering, and had taken great pains to stand well with the
Fa