er people at rest. I _can't_
mark them places--I don't know whether I'm on my head or heels.'

And he smacked the quarto Prayer-book down upon the folio Bible with a
sonorous bang, and glided out, furious, frightened, and taciturn, to the
Salmon House.

He came upon Dangerfield again only half-a-dozen steps from the turn
into the street. He had just dismissed Martin, and was looking into a
note in his pocket-book, and either did not see, or pretended not to
see, the clerk. But some one else saw and recognised Mr. Irons; and, as
he passed, directed upon him a quick, searching glance. It was Mr.
Mervyn, who happened to pass that way. Irons and Dangerfield, and the
church-yard--there was a flash of association in the group and the
background which accorded with an old suspicion. Dangerfield, indeed,
was innocently reading a leaf in his red and gilt leather pocket-book,
as I have said. But Irons's eyes met the glance of Mervyn, and
contracted oddly, and altogether there gleamed out something indefinable
in his look. It was only for a second--a glance and an intuition; and
from that moment it was one of Mervyn's immovable convictions, that Mr.
Dangerfield knew something of Irons's secret. It was a sort of
intermittent suspicion before--now it was a monstrous, but fixed belief.

So Mr. Irons glided swiftly on to the Salmon House, where, in a dark
corner, he drank something comfortable; and stalked back again to the
holy pile, with his head aching, and the world round him like a wild and
evil dream.

CHAPTER LXIV.

BEING A NIGHT SCENE, IN WHICH MISS GERTRUDE CHATTESWORTH, BEING ADJURED
BY AUNT BECKY, MAKES ANSWER.

In Aunt Becky's mind, the time could not be far off when the odd sort of
relations existing between the Belmont family and Mr. Dangerfield must
be defined. The Croesus himself, indeed, was very indulgent. He was
assiduous and respectful; but he wisely abstained from pressing for an
immediate decision, and trusted to reflection and to Aunt Becky's good
offices; and knew that his gold would operate by its own slow, but sure,
gravitation.

At one time he had made up his mind to be peremptory--and politely to
demand an unequivocal 'yes,' or 'no.' But a letter reached him from
London; it was from a great physician there. Whatever was in it, the
effect was to relieve his mind of an anxiety. He never, indeed, looked
anxious, or moped like an ordinary man in blue-devils. But his servants
knew when anything