“Probably,” returned Mr. Kenge.  “Mr. Vholes?”

“Probably,” said Mr. Vholes.

“My dearest life,” whispered Allan, “this will break Richard’s heart!”

There was such a shock of apprehension in his face, and he knew Richard so perfectly, and I too had seen so much of his gradual decay, that what my dear girl had said to me in the fullness of her foreboding love sounded like a knell in my ears.

“In case you should be wanting Mr. C., sir,” said Mr. Vholes, coming after us, “you’ll find him in court.  I left him there resting himself a little.  Good day, sir; good day, Miss Summerson.”  As he gave me that slowly devouring look of his, while twisting up the strings of his bag before he hastened with it after Mr. Kenge, the benignant shadow of whose conversational presence he seemed afraid to leave, he gave one gasp as if he had swallowed the last morsel of his client, and his black buttoned-up unwholesome figure glided away to the low door at the end of the Hall.

“My dear love,” said Allan, “leave to me, for a little while, the charge you gave me.  Go home with this intelligence and come to Ada’s by and by!”

I would not let him take me to a coach, but entreated him to go to Richard without a moment’s delay and leave me to do as he wished.  Hurrying home, I found my guardian and told him gradually with what news I had returned.  “Little woman,” said he, quite unmoved for himself, “to have done with the suit on any terms is a greater blessing than I had looked for.  But my poor young cousins!”

We talked about them all the morning and discussed what it was possible to do.  In the afternoon my guardian walked with me to Symond’s Inn and left me at the door.  I went upstairs.  When my darling heard my footsteps, she came out into the small passage and threw her arms round my neck, but she composed herself directly and said that Richard had asked for me several times.  Allan had found him sitting in the corner of the court, she told me, like a stone figure.  On being roused, he had broken away and made as if he would have spoken in a fierce voice to the judge.  He was stopped by his mouth being full of blood, and Allan had brought him home.

He was lying on a sofa with his eyes closed when I went in.  There were restoratives on the table; the room was made as airy as possible, and was darkened, and was very orderly and quiet.  Allan stood behind him watching him gravely.  His face appeared to me to be quite destitute of colour, and now that I saw him without his seeing me, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn away he was.  But he looked handsomer than I had seen him look for many a day.

I sat down by his side in silence.  Opening his eyes by and by, he said in a weak voice, but with his old smile, “Dame Durden, kiss me, my dear!”

It was a great comfort and surprise to me to find him in his low state cheerful and looking forward.  He was happier, he said, in our intended marriage than he could find words to tell me.  My husband had been a guardian angel to him and Ada, and he blessed us both and wished us all the joy that life could yield us.  I almost felt as if my own heart would have broken when I saw him take my husband’s hand and hold it to his breast.