“An opinion, sir?”

“Yes, sir; have you been thus long in the profession, or in contact with the profession,” added Mr. Rushton, correcting himself, “without learning what an opinion is?”

“Oh, sir—­I think I understand now—­it is—­”

“A very gratifying circumstance that you do,” said Mr. Rushton, with the air of a good-natured grizzly bear.  “Well, sir, that fellow, I say, had the audacity to consult me upon a legal point—­whether the tailor O’Brallaghan, being bound over to keep the peace, could attack him without forfeiting his recognizances—­that villain Jinks, I say, had the outrageous audacity to ask my opinion on this point, and then when I gave it, to rise and say that it was a fine morning, and so strut out, without another word.  A villain, sir! the man who consults a lawyer without the preparatory retainer, is a wretch too deep-dyed to reform!”

Having thus disposed of Jinks, Mr. Rushton snorted.

“I don’t like him,” Verty said, “he does not seem to be sincere, and I think he is not a gentleman.  But, I forget, sir; you asked me if there was any news.  I did hear some people talking at the corners of the street as I passed.

“About what?”

“The turn out of the Dutch and Irish people the day after tomorrow, sir.”

“Hum!” growled Mr. Rushton, “we’ll see about that!  The authorities of Winchester are performing their duty after a pretty fashion, truly—­to permit these villainous plots to be hatched tinder their very noses.  What did you hear, sir?”

“They were whispering almost, sir, and if I had’nt been a hunter I could’nt have heard.  They were saying that there would be knives as well as shillalies,” said Verty.

“Hum! indeed!  This must be looked to!  Will we!  The wretches.  We are in a fine way when the public peace is to be sacrificed to the whim of some outlandish wretches.”

“Anan?” said Verty.

“Sir?” asked Mr. Rushton.

“I do not know exactly what outlandish means,” Verty replied, with a smile.

A grim smile came to the lips of the lawyer also.

“It means a variety of things,” he said, looking at Verty; “some people would say that you, sir, were outlandish.”

“Me!” said Verty.

“Yes, you; where are those costumes which I presented to you?”

“My clothes, sir—­from the tailor’s?”

“Yes, sir.”

Verty shook his head.

“I did’nt feel easy in them, sir,” he said; “you know I am an Indian—­or if I am not, at least I am a hunter.  They cramped me.”

Mr. Rushton looked at the young man for some moments in silence.

“You are a myth,” he said, grimly smiling, “a dream—­a chimera.  You came from no source, and are going nowhere.  But I trifle.  If I am permitted, sir, I shall institute proper inquiries as to your origin, which has occasioned so much thought.  The press of business I have labored under during the last month has not permitted me.  Wretched life.  I’m sick of it—­and go to it like a horse to the traces.”