urs in that company, the first thing he saw was the
attorney's gloomy face awaiting them in a dark corner of the
coffee-room. The sight reproached him subtly, he knew not why; he was in
the worst of tempers, and, for want of a better outlet, he vented his
spleen on the lawyer's head.

'D--n you!' he cried, brutally. 'Your hang-dog phiz is enough to spoil
any sport! Hang me if I believe that there is such another mumping,
whining, whimpering sneak in the 'varsal world! D'you think any one
will have luck with your tallow face within a mile of him?' Then
longing, but not daring, to turn his wrath on Sir George, 'What do you
bring him for?' he cried.

'For my convenience,' Sir George retorted, with a look of contempt that
for the time silenced the other. And that said, Soane proceeded to
explain to Mr. Fishwick, who had answered not a word, that the rogues
had got into hiding; but that by means of persons known to Mr.
Dunborough it was hoped that they would be heard from that evening or
the next. Then, struck by the attorney's sickly face, 'I am afraid you
are not well, Mr. Fishwick,' Sir George continued, more kindly. 'The
night has been too much for you. I would advise you to lie down for a
few hours and take some rest. If anything is heard I will send word
to you.'

Mr. Fishwick thanked him, without meeting his eyes; and after a minute
or two retired. Sir George looked after him, and pondered a little on
the change in his manner. Through the stress of the night Mr. Fishwick
had shown himself alert and eager, ready and not lacking in spirit; now
he had depression written large on his face, and walked and bore himself
like a man sinking under a load of despondency.

All that day the messenger from the slums was expected but did not come;
and between the two men who sat downstairs, strange relations prevailed.
Sir George did not venture to let the other out of his sight; yet there
were times when they came to the verge of blows, and nothing but the
knowledge of Sir George's swordsmanship kept Mr. Dunborough's temper
within bounds. At dinner, at which Sir George insisted that the attorney
should sit down with them, Dunborough drank his two bottles of wine, and
in his cups fell into a strain peculiarly provoking.

'Lord! you make me sick,' he said. 'All this pother about a girl that a
month ago your high mightiness would not have looked at in the street.
You are vastly virtuous now, and sneer at me; but, damme! which of