An unusual sight awaited him.

Seated at his old circular table, covered with papers and books, Mr. Rushton seemed perfectly ignorant of his presence, as he had not heard the noise of the kick.  His head resting upon his hand, the forehead drooping, the eyes half closed, the bosom shaken by piteous sighs, and the whole person full of languor and grief, no one would have recognized the rough, bearish Lawyer Rushton, or believed that there could be anything in common between him and the individual sitting at the table, so bowed down with sorrow.

Before him lay a little book, which he looked at through a mist of tears.

Roundjacket touched him on the shoulder, with a glance of wonder, and said:—­

“You are sick, sir!—­Mr. Rushton, sir!—­there is somebody to see you.”

In truth, the honest fellow could scarcely stammer out these broken words; and when Mr. Rushton, slowly returning to a consciousness of his whereabouts, raised his sorrowful eyes, Roundjacket looked at him with profound commiseration and sympathy.

“You have forgotten,” said Mr. Rushton, in a low, broken voice, his pale lips trembling as he spoke,—­“you don’t keep account of the days as I do, Roundjacket.”

“The days—­I—­”

“Yes, yes; it is natural for you to wonder at all this,” said the weary looking man, closing the book, and locking it up in a secret drawer of the table; “let us dismiss the matter.  Did you say any one wanted me?  Yes, I can attend to business—­my mind is quite clear—­I am ready—­I will see them now, Roundjacket.”

And the head of the lawyer fell upon his arm, his bosom shaken with sobs.

Roundjacket looked at him no longer with so much surprise—­he had understood all.

“Yes, yes, sir—­I had forgotten,” he muttered, “this is the 13th of October.”

Mr. Rushton groaned.

Roundjacket was silent for a moment, looking at his friend with deep sympathy.

“I don’t wonder now at your feelings, sir,” he said, “and I am sorry I intruded on—­”

“No, no—­you are a good friend,” murmured the lawyer, growing calmer, “you will understand my feelings, and not think them strange.  I am nearly over it now; it must come—­oh!  I am very wretched!  Oh!  Anne! my child, my child!”

And allowing his head to fall again, the rough, boorish man cried like a child, spite of the most violent efforts to regain his composure and master his emotion.

“Go,” he said, in a low, broken voice, making a movement with his hand, “I was wrong—­I cannot see any one to-day—­I must be alone.”

Roundjacket hesitated; moved dubiously from, then toward the lawyer; finally he seemed to have made up his mind, and going out he closed the door slowly behind him.  As he did so, the key turned in the lock, and a stifled moan died away in the inner chamber.

“Mr. Rushton is unwell, and can’t transact business to-day,” said Roundjacket, softly, for he was thinking of the poor afflicted heart “within;” then he added, “you may call to-morrow, sir,”