“I wish you to apply, on this affidavit, for a writ of habeas ad sub., to bring up the body of Clara Brandon.  Judge Bailey will be at chambers at three o’clock:  it is now more than half-past two, and I can be off on my return by four at latest.”

“A writ of habeas!” I exclaimed with astonishment.  “Why, what end can that answer?  The lady will be remanded, and you and I shall be laughed at for our pains.”

This writ of habeas corpus “ad subjiciendum,” I had better explain to the non-professional reader, is the great prerogative writ, the operation of which is sometimes suspended by the legislature during political panics.  It is grounded on the principle that the sovereign has at all times a right to inquire, through the judges of the superior courts, by what authority his or her subject is held in constraint.  It issues, as a matter of right, upon the filing of an affidavit, averring that to the best of the belief of the deponent the individual sought to be brought up is illegally confined; and it is of the essence of the proceeding, that the person alleged to be suffering unlawful constraint should actually be brought before the “queen herself;” that is, before one or more of the judges of the court which has issued the writ, who, if they find the detention illegal, the only question at issue upon this writ may discharge or bail the party.  It was quite obvious, therefore, that in this case such a proceeding would be altogether futile, as the detention in the house of her guardian, under the sanction, too, of the lord chancellor, the ex-officio custodier of all lunatics—­of a ward of alleged disordered intellect—­was clearly legal, at least prima facie so, and not to be disturbed under a habeas ad sub. at all events.

“Perhaps so,” replied Ferret quite coolly in reply to my exclamation; “but I am determined to try every means of releasing the unfortunate young lady from the cruel thraldom in which she is held by that harridan of an aunt-in-law.  She is no more really insane than you are; but at the same time so excitable upon certain topics, that it might be perhaps difficult to disabuse the chancellor or a jury of the impression so industriously propagated to her prejudice.  The peremptory rejection by her guardian of young Burford’s addresses, though sanctioned by her father:  you know the Burfords?”

“Of Grosvenor Street you mean—­the East India director?”

“Yes, his son; and that reminds me that the declaration in that everlasting exchequer case must be filed to-morrow.  Confound it, how this flying about the country puts one out!  I thought some one had kidnapped her son, or fired Compton Castle at least.  By the way, I am much deceived if there isn’t a wedding there before long.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, Miss Dalston with Sir Jasper’s eldest hope.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“They do at all events, and that is much more to the purpose.  A fine young fellow enough, and sufficiently rich too”—­