over all that which he had now discovered,
almost without necessity for any effort. But nevertheless he was not
altogether pleased; he had made up his mind a month or two ago that
Lady Fitzgerald was not the lawful wife of her husband; and had come
to this conclusion on, as he still thought, sufficient evidence. But
now he was proved to have been wrong; his character for shrewdness
and discernment would be damaged, and his great ally and chum Mr.
Die, the Chancery barrister, would be down on him with unmitigated
sarcasm. A man who has been right so frequently as Mr. Prendergast,
does not like to find that he is ever in the wrong. And then, had his
decision not have been sudden, might not the life of that old baronet
have been saved?

Mr. Prendergast could not help feeling this in some degree as he
drove away to Bloomsbury Square; but nevertheless he had also the
feeling of having achieved a great triumph. It was with him as with a
man who has made a fortune when he has declared to his friends that
he should infallibly be ruined. It piques him to think how wrong he
has been in his prophecy; but still it is very pleasant to have made
one's fortune.

When he found himself at the top of Chancery Lane in Holborn, he
stopped his cab and got out of it. He had by that time made up his
mind as to what he would do; so he walked briskly down to Stone
Buildings, and nodding to the old clerk, with whom he was very
intimate, asked if he could see Mr. Die. It was his second visit to
those chambers that morning, seeing that he had been there early in
the day, introducing Herbert to his new Gamaliel. "Yes, Mr. Die is
in," said the clerk, smiling; and so Mr. Prendergast passed on into
the well-known dingy temple of the Chancery god himself.

There he remained for full an hour, a message in the meanwhile having
been sent out to Herbert Fitzgerald, begging him not to leave the
chambers till he should have seen Mr. Die; "and your friend Mr.
Prendergast is with him," said the clerk. "A very nice gentleman is
Mr. Prendergast, uncommon clever too; but it seems to me that he
never can hold his own when he comes across our Mr. Die."

At the end of the hour Herbert was summoned into the sanctum, and
there he found Mr. Die sitting in his accustomed chair, with his body
much bent, nursing the calf of his leg, which was always enveloped in
a black, well-fitting close pantaloon, and smiling very blandly. Mr.
Prendergast had in his countenance no