What a load off my mind!  It was so delightful to know that she could confide in me and like me!  It was so good of her, and so encouraging to me!

The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name Richard Carstone.  He was a handsome youth with an ingenuous face and a most engaging laugh; and after she had called him up to where we sat, he stood by us, in the light of the fire, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy.  He was very young, not more than nineteen then, if quite so much, but nearly two years older than she was.  They were both orphans and (what was very unexpected and curious to me) had never met before that day.  Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it; and the fire, which had left off roaring, winked its red eyes at us—­as Richard said—­like a drowsy old Chancery lion.

We conversed in a low tone because a full-dressed gentleman in a bag wig frequently came in and out, and when he did so, we could hear a drawling sound in the distance, which he said was one of the counsel in our case addressing the Lord Chancellor.  He told Mr. Kenge that the Chancellor would be up in five minutes; and presently we heard a bustle and a tread of feet, and Mr. Kenge said that the Court had risen and his lordship was in the next room.

The gentleman in the bag wig opened the door almost directly and requested Mr. Kenge to come in.  Upon that, we all went into the next room, Mr. Kenge first, with my darling—­it is so natural to me now that I can’t help writing it; and there, plainly dressed in black and sitting in an arm-chair at a table near the fire, was his lordship, whose robe, trimmed with beautiful gold lace, was thrown upon another chair.  He gave us a searching look as we entered, but his manner was both courtly and kind.

The gentleman in the bag wig laid bundles of papers on his lordship’s table, and his lordship silently selected one and turned over the leaves.

“Miss Clare,” said the Lord Chancellor.  “Miss Ada Clare?”

Mr. Kenge presented her, and his lordship begged her to sit down near him.  That he admired her and was interested by her even I could see in a moment.  It touched me that the home of such a beautiful young creature should be represented by that dry, official place.  The Lord High Chancellor, at his best, appeared so poor a substitute for the love and pride of parents.

“The Jarndyce in question,” said the Lord Chancellor, still turning over leaves, “is Jarndyce of Bleak House.”

“Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord,” said Mr. Kenge.

“A dreary name,” said the Lord Chancellor.

“But not a dreary place at present, my lord,” said Mr. Kenge.

“And Bleak House,” said his lordship, “is in—­”

“Hertfordshire, my lord.”

“Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?” said his lordship.