's first illness; and
having exhausted that sad subject at last, ended by calling on his
friend to change the conversation to some less mournful topic.

But just at this point, it seemed that Mat was perversely determined to
let himself lapse into another silent fit. He not only made no attempt
to change the conversation, but entirely ceased asking questions; and,
indeed, hardly uttered another word of any kind, good or bad. Zack,
after vainly trying to rally him into talking, lit a cigar in despair,
and the two walked on together silently--Mat having his hands in his
pockets, keeping his eyes bent on the ground, and altogether burying
himself, as it were, from the outer world, in the inner-most recesses of
a deep brown study.

As they returned, and got near Kirk Street, Mat gradually began to talk
again, but only on indifferent subjects; asking no more questions about
Mr. Blyth, or any one else. They arrived at their lodgings at half-past
five o'clock. Zack went into the bed-room to wash his hands. While he
was thus engaged, Mat opened that leather bag of his which has been
already described as lying in the corner with the bear-skins, and
taking out the feather-fan and the Indian tobacco-pouch, wrapped them
up separately in paper. Having done this, he called to Zack; and, saying
that he was about to step over to the shaving shop to get his face
scraped clean before going to Mr. Blyth's, left the house with his two
packages in his hand.

"If the worst comes to the worst, I'll chance it to-night with the
garden-door," said Mat to himself, as he took the first turning that
led towards the second-hand iron shop. "This will do to get rid of the
painter-man with. And this will send Zack after him," he added, putting
first the fan and then the tobacco-pouch into separate pockets of
his coat. A cunning smile hovered about his lips for a moment, as he
disposed of his two packages in this manner; but it passed away again
almost immediately, and was succeeded by a curious contraction and
twitching of the upper part of his face. He began muttering once again
that name of "Mary," which had been often on his lips lately; and
quickened his pace mechanically, as it was always his habit to do when
anything vexed or disturbed him.

When he reached the shop, the hunchback was at the door, with the
tin tobacco-box in his hand. On this occasion, not a single word
was exchanged between the two. The squalid shopman, as the customer
appr