Nevertheless, he reached the inn safely.  When Mr. Dunborough returned from a futile search, his failure in which condemned him to another twenty-four hours in that company, the first thing he saw was the attorney’s gloomy face awaiting them in a dark corner of the coffee-room.  The sight reproached him subtly, he knew not why; he was in the worst of tempers, and, for want of a better outlet, he vented his spleen on the lawyer’s head.

‘D—­n you!’ he cried, brutally.  ’Your hang-dog phiz is enough to spoil any sport!  Hang me if I believe that there is such another mumping, whining, whimpering sneak in the ’varsal world!  D’you think any one will have luck with your tallow face within a mile of him?’ Then longing, but not daring, to turn his wrath on Sir George, ’What do you bring him for?’ he cried.

‘For my convenience,’ Sir George retorted, with a look of contempt that for the time silenced the other.  And that said, Soane proceeded to explain to Mr. Fishwick, who had answered not a word, that the rogues had got into hiding; but that by means of persons known to Mr. Dunborough it was hoped that they would be heard from that evening or the next.  Then, struck by the attorney’s sickly face, ’I am afraid you are not well, Mr. Fishwick,’ Sir George continued, more kindly.  ’The night has been too much for you.  I would advise you to lie down for a few hours and take some rest.  If anything is heard I will send word to you.’

Mr. Fishwick thanked him, without meeting his eyes; and after a minute or two retired.  Sir George looked after him, and pondered a little on the change in his manner.  Through the stress of the night Mr. Fishwick had shown himself alert and eager, ready and not lacking in spirit; now he had depression written large on his face, and walked and bore himself like a man sinking under a load of despondency.

All that day the messenger from the slums was expected but did not come; and between the two men who sat downstairs, strange relations prevailed.  Sir George did not venture to let the other out of his sight; yet there were times when they came to the verge of blows, and nothing but the knowledge of Sir George’s swordsmanship kept Mr. Dunborough’s temper within bounds.  At dinner, at which Sir George insisted that the attorney should sit down with them, Dunborough drank his two bottles of wine, and in his cups fell into a strain peculiarly provoking.

‘Lord! you make me sick,’ he said.  ’All this pother about a girl that a month ago your high mightiness would not have looked at in the street.  You are vastly virtuous now, and sneer at me; but, damme! which of us loves the girl best?  Take away her money, and will you marry her?  I’d ’a done it, without a rag to her back.  But take away her money, and will you do the same, Mr. Virtuous?’

Sir George listening darkly, and putting a great restraint on himself, did not answer.  Mr. Fishwick waited a moment, then got up suddenly, and hurried from the room—­with a movement so abrupt that he left his wine-glass in fragments on the floor.