XVIII
TO THE PRISON
No sooner had Northcote entered the vehicle
than his mood underwent a curious transformation.
His heart began to beat rapidly, his hands to shake,
his knees to tremble. His brain grew so hot that
a vapor was thrown in front of his eyes. Extraordinary
emotions overcame him to such a degree
that he could not discern any of the faces in the
street.
"You are very quiet," said the solicitor, after awhile.
"Yes, I dare say," said the young man, in a voice which in his own ears sounded thin and high-strung.
"Why not talk? That is your métier. You were much more amusing last night on the way to Norbiton."
"Somehow I don't feel as though I have anything to say. My head is so full of this affair."
"Don't think about it too much or it may get you down," said Mr. Whitcomb, puffing quietly at his cigar; "although to-morrow you are certain to be in a horrible funk, as it is the first job of the kind you have ever had to tackle. Nor will it make it the easier for you when you reflect that the line you have decided to take will add immensely to your difficulties."
Mr. Whitcomb spoke with the quiet incisiveness
