said, the distance and time occupied
seemed to be very short.

"Why, this is Lincoln's Inn Fields!" she exclaimed, as she came out
upon the west side.

"Yes; this is Lincoln's Inn Fields, and Mr Slow's chambers are over
there."

She knew very well where Mr Slow's chambers were situated, but she
paused on the pavement, not wishing to go thither quite at once.

"John," she said, "I thought that perhaps we might have talked over
all this before we saw Mr Slow."

"Talked over all what?"

"About the money that I want to give to my brother's family. Did not
my aunt tell you of it?"

"Yes; she told me that you and she had differed."

"And she told you what about?"

"Yes," said he, slowly; "she told me what about."

"And what ought I to do, John?"

As she asked the question she caught hold of the lappet of his coat,
and looked up into his face as though supplicating him to give her
the advantage of all his discretion and all his honesty.

They were still standing on the pavement, where the street comes out
from under the archway. She was gazing into his face, and he was
looking away from her, over towards the inner railings of the square,
with heavy brow and dull eye and motionless face. She was very eager,
and he seemed to be simply patient, but nevertheless he was working
hard with his thoughts, striving to determine how best he might
answer her. His mother had told him that he might model this woman to
his will, and had repeated to him that story which he had heard so
often of the wrong that had been done to him by his uncle Jonathan.
It may be said that there was no need for such repetition, as John
Ball had himself always thought quite enough of that injury. He had
thought of it for the last twenty years, almost hourly, till it was
graven upon his very soul. He had been a ruined, wretched, moody man,
because of his uncle Jonathan's will. There was no need, one would
have said, to have stirred him on that subject. But his mother, on
this morning, in the ten minutes before prayer-time, had told him
of it all again, and had told him also that the last vestige of his
uncle's money would now disappear from him unless he interfered to
save it.

"On this very day it must be saved; and she will do anything you tell
her," said his mother. "She regards you more than anyone else. If you
were to ask her again now, I believe she would accept you this very
day. At any rate, do not let those people have the money."