The lawyer laughed; he was a Southerner by birth, and his voice was gentle, his manner courteous.

“Of your identity, Mr. Thorne, these men will take excellent care to inform themselves, and of your responsibility also,” he answered.  “For the truth of your statements, they are apt to take your word, and the depositions of your witnesses, without troubling themselves about substantiating the facts.  The soundness of your evidence is your lookout, not theirs.  If the case were to be contested, it would be different, but, in this instance, there is consent of both parties, which simplifies matters.  This case is reduced to a matter of mere form and business.”

“Apparently, then, my statements may be a tissue of lies from beginning to end, for all the difference it makes,” observed Thorne, curious to discover how small a penknife could now cut the bond which once the scythe of death alone was held to be able to sever.

“For your veracity, Mr. Thorne, your appearance is a sufficient voucher,” responded the lawyer, with a ready courtesy.  “And the looseness on which you comment, recollect, is all in your favor.  When a man has an unpleasant piece of business in hand, it’s surely an immense advantage to be able to accomplish it speedily and privately.”

Thorne walked in the direction of his hotel in a state of preoccupation.  He was sore and irritated; he disliked it all intensely; it jarred upon him and offended his taste.  Over and over he cursed it all for a damnable business from beginning to end.  He was perfectly aware, reasoning from cause to effect, that the situation was, in some sort, his own fault; but that was a poor consolation.  That side of the question did not readily present itself; his horizon was occupied by the nearer and more personal view.  He loathed it all, and was genuinely sorry for himself and conscious that fate was dealing hardly by him.

As he turned a corner, he ran against a tall, handsome young lady, who put out her hand and caught his arm to steady herself, laughing gayly: 

“Take care, Nesbit!” she exclaimed, “you nearly knocked me down.  Since when have you taken to emulating Mrs. Wilfer’s father, and ‘felling’ your relatives to the earth?”

“Why, Norma! is it really you?” he questioned, refusing to admit the evidence of sight and touch unfortified by hearing.

He was genuinely delighted to see her, and foresaw that she would be a comfort to him during the days that must elapse before it became possible for him to start for Illinois.  He needed sympathy and some one to make much of him.  And Norma, with her lustrous eyes aglow with the pleasure of the meeting, appeared to divine it, for she set herself to entertain him with little incidents and adventures of her journey from Virginia, and with scraps of intelligence of the people at home.  She did not mention Pocahontas, save in reply to a direct inquiry, and then simply stated that she had spent a night at Lanarth a day or so before coming North, and that the family were all well.