ly empty when
his nap began. With nervous anxiety he pulled out his watch, and
found that it was half-past nine. He seized his hat, and, hurrying
downstairs, started at a rapid pace for Lincoln's Inn.

It still wanted twenty minutes to ten when the warden found himself
at the bottom of Sir Abraham's stairs, so he walked leisurely up and
down the quiet inn to cool himself. It was a beautiful evening at
the end of August. He had recovered from his fatigue; his sleep and
the coffee had refreshed him, and he was surprised to find that he
was absolutely enjoying himself, when the inn clock struck ten. The
sound was hardly over before he knocked at Sir Abraham's door, and
was informed by the clerk who received him that the great man would
be with him immediately.

Chapter XVII

SIR ABRAHAM HAPHAZARD

Mr Harding was shown into a comfortable inner sitting-room, looking
more like a gentleman's book-room than a lawyer's chambers, and there
waited for Sir Abraham. Nor was he kept waiting long: in ten or
fifteen minutes he heard a clatter of voices speaking quickly in the
passage, and then the attorney-general entered.

"Very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Warden," said Sir Abraham, shaking
hands with him; "and sorry, too, to name so disagreeable an hour;
but your notice was short, and as you said to-day, I named the very
earliest hour that was not disposed of."

Mr Harding assured him that he was aware that it was he that should
apologise.

Sir Abraham was a tall thin man, with hair prematurely gray, but
bearing no other sign of age; he had a slight stoop, in his neck
rather than his back, acquired by his constant habit of leaning
forward as he addressed his various audiences. He might be fifty
years old, and would have looked young for his age, had not constant
work hardened his features, and given him the appearance of a machine
with a mind. His face was full of intellect, but devoid of natural
expression. You would say he was a man to use, and then have done
with; a man to be sought for on great emergencies, but ill-adapted for
ordinary services; a man whom you would ask to defend your property,
but to whom you would be sorry to confide your love. He was bright
as a diamond, and as cutting, and also as unimpressionable. He knew
everyone whom to know was an honour, but he was without a friend; he
wanted none, however, and knew not the meaning of the word in other
than its parliamentary sense. A frien