vy boots and his long capote.

"So, my worthy friend," cried he, in a rich, soft voice, "you stole a
march on me,--moved off without beat of drum, and took up a position
before I was stirring!"

"Ah, my reverend friend, _you_ here!" said the other, in evident
confusion. "I never so much as suspected you were coming in this
direction."

Paul Classon and Terry Driscoll stared long and significantly at each
other. Of all those silences, which are more eloquent than words, none
can equal that interval in which two consummate knaves exchange glances
of recognition, so complete an appreciation is there of each other's
gifts, such an honest, unaffected, frank interchange of admiration.

"You are a clever fellow, Driscoll, you are!" said Paul, admiringly.

"No, no. The Lord help me, I'm a poor crayture," said Terry, shaking his
head despondingly.

"Don't believe it, man,--don't believe it," said Paul, clapping him on
the shoulder; "you have great natural gifts. Your face alone is worth a
thousand a year, and you have a shuffling, shambling way of coming into
a room that's better than an account at Coutts's. Joe Norris used to say
that a slight palsy he had in one hand was worth twelve hundred a year
to him at billiards alone."

"What a droll man you are, Mr. Classon!" said Terry, wiping his eyes as
he laughed. And again they looked at each other long and curiously.

"Driscoll," said Paul, after a considerable pause, "on which side do you
hold your brief?"

"My brief! God knows it's little I know about brief and parchments,"
sighed Terry, heavily.

"Come, come, man, what's the use of fencing? I see your hand; I know
every trump in it."

Driscoll shook his head, and muttered something about the "faver that
destroyed him entirely."

"Ah!" sighed Classon, "I cannot well picture to my mind what you
might have been anterior to that calamity, but what remains is still
remarkable,--very remarkable. And now I ask again, on which side are you
engaged?"

"Dear me,--dear me!" groaned out Terry; "it's a terrible world we live
in!"

"Truly and well observed, Driscoll. Life is nothing but a long and
harassing journey, with accidents at every stage, and mischances at
every halt; meanwhile, for whom do you act?"

The door at the end of the long gallery was slightly and noiselessly
opened at this instant, and a signal with a hand caught Driscoll's
attention. Rapid and stealthy as was the motion, Classon turned hastily
round