“I don’t know,” he said as he looked at me, “what it is that sets me off again—­but—­bosh!  What’s my head running against!” He passed one of his heavy hands over his crisp dark hair as if to sweep the broken thoughts out of his mind and sat a little forward, with one arm akimbo and the other resting on his leg, looking in a brown study at the ground.

“I am sorry to learn that the same state of mind has got this Gridley into new troubles and that he is in hiding,” said my guardian.

“So I am told, sir,” returned Mr. George, still musing and looking on the ground.  “So I am told.”

“You don’t know where?”

“No, sir,” returned the trooper, lifting up his eyes and coming out of his reverie.  “I can’t say anything about him.  He will be worn out soon, I expect.  You may file a strong man’s heart away for a good many years, but it will tell all of a sudden at last.”

Richard’s entrance stopped the conversation.  Mr. George rose, made me another of his soldierly bows, wished my guardian a good day, and strode heavily out of the room.

This was the morning of the day appointed for Richard’s departure.  We had no more purchases to make now; I had completed all his packing early in the afternoon; and our time was disengaged until night, when he was to go to Liverpool for Holyhead.  Jarndyce and Jarndyce being again expected to come on that day, Richard proposed to me that we should go down to the court and hear what passed.  As it was his last day, and he was eager to go, and I had never been there, I gave my consent and we walked down to Westminster, where the court was then sitting.  We beguiled the way with arrangements concerning the letters that Richard was to write to me and the letters that I was to write to him and with a great many hopeful projects.  My guardian knew where we were going and therefore was not with us.

When we came to the court, there was the Lord Chancellor—­the same whom I had seen in his private room in Lincoln’s Inn—­sitting in great state and gravity on the bench, with the mace and seals on a red table below him and an immense flat nosegay, like a little garden, which scented the whole court.  Below the table, again, was a long row of solicitors, with bundles of papers on the matting at their feet; and then there were the gentlemen of the bar in wigs and gowns—­some awake and some asleep, and one talking, and nobody paying much attention to what he said.  The Lord Chancellor leaned back in his very easy chair with his elbow on the cushioned arm and his forehead resting on his hand; some of those who were present dozed; some read the newspapers; some walked about or whispered in groups:  all seemed perfectly at their ease, by no means in a hurry, very unconcerned, and extremely comfortable.