But—­poor Hannah’s “beauty”!

Mr. Brudenell repressed the smile that rose to his lips, for he felt that the innocent illusions of honest affection were far too sacred to be laughed at.

And with some well-deserved compliments to the health and intelligence of the boy and girl, he kissed them both, shook hands with Hannah and Reuben, and went away.

He turned his steps towards the City Hall, with the intention of going into the courtroom and comforting his soul by watching the son whom he durst not acknowledge.

And as he walked thither, how he envied humble Reuben Gray his parental happiness!

CHAPTER LXI.

ENVY.

  Well! blot him black with slander’s ink,
    He stands as white as snow! 
  You serve him better than you think
    And kinder than you know;
  What? is it not some credit then,
    That he provokes your blame? 
  This merely, with all better men,
    Is quite a kind of fame!

  —­M.F.  Tupper.

Mr. Brudenell found Ishmael in the anteroom of the court in close conversation with a client, an elderly, care-worn woman in widow’s weeds.  He caught a few words of her discourse, to which Ishmael appeared to be listening with sympathy.

“Yes, sir, Maine; we belong to Bangor.  He went to California some years ago and made money.  And he was on his way home and got as far as this city, where he was taken ill with the cholera, at his brother’s house, where he died before I could get to him; leaving three hundred thousand dollars, all in California gold, which his brother refuses to give up, denying all knowledge of it.  It is robbery of the widow and orphan, sir, and nothing short of that!”—­she was saying.

“If this is as you state it, it would seem to be a case for a detective policeman and a criminal prosecution, rather than for an attorney and a civil suit,” said Ishmael.

“So it ought to be, sir, for he deserves punishment; but I have been advised to sue him, and I mean to do it, if you will take my case.  But if you do take it, sir, it must be on conditions.”

“Yes.  What are they?”

“Why, if you do not recover the money, you will not receive any pay; but if you do recover the money, you will receive a very large share of it yourself, as a compensation for your services and your risk.”

“I cannot take your case on these terms, madam; I cannot accept a conditional fee,” said Ishmael gently.

“Then what shall I do?” exclaimed the widow, bursting into tears.  “I have no money, and shall not have any until I get that!  And how can I get that unless I sue for it?  Or how sue for it, unless you are willing to take the risk?  Do, sir, try it!  It will be no risk, after all; you will be sure to gain it!”

“It is not the risk that I object to, madam,” said Ishmael very gently, “but it is this—­to make my fee out of my case would appear to me a sort of professional gambling, from which I should shrink.”