Mr. Whitcomb's whimsical air strove to cloak a wound to his professional feelings.
"Ah, yes, of course, Mr. Whitcomb; of course," said the young man, with a deeper disappointment fixing its talons upon him. "Of course—Mr. Whitcomb, the solicitor," he added, hastily, as through the haze of the unreal which still enveloped his amazed and stupefied senses he caught a familiar aspect and a tone that he recalled.
"The same."
"Excuse this inhospitable darkness," said Northcote. "Here is a chair; and try, if you please, to keep your patience while I put some oil in the lamp and seek a piece of coal for the fire."
"No elaborate scheme of welcome, I beg. Your client is not a prince of the blood, but a common lawyer."
A well-fed and highly sagacious chuckle accompanied this sally on the part of the solicitor.
Still in the throes of his stupefaction, Northcote addressed himself to the oil-can and the coal-box, that as far as the circumstances would permit a reception might be accorded to this unexpected guest, whose common and prosaic quality had already jarred upon every fibre of his being. And these preparations, diffidently conducted, kindled again the well-fed chuckle of the solicitor; and so ingratiating was it that it seemed to banish all appearance of constraint by imparting an air of equality to everything in the world.
The lamp flared up under the influence of the dregs of fuel that had been added to it, and revealed the pale and wasted features of the garret's inhabitant. The solicitor, with the quickness of the
