"Well, so I am, in one sense," replied the
young man. " I'm only in town for the day."

"And what brings you to town only for the
day? Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Oh, no—nothing at all. I—that is you . . ."

And Saxon, unpractised in the art of
equivocation, floundered helplessly about in search of
a reason that should be true, and yet not the
truth.

"You want to consult me about something,
I suppose," said the lawyer, observant of his
perplexity. " Come into my room, and tell me
all about it."

So they went into the private room, and
William Trefalden closed the double doors.

"First of all, Saxon," said he, laying his
hand impressively on the young man's shoulder,
"I must ask you a question. You saw that
client of mine just now, and you heard him
allude to certain matters of business as he went
out?"

"I did," replied Saxon; " and I was
sorry . . . ."

"One moment, if you please. You heard
him mention the name of Lord Castletowers?"

"Yes."

"Then I must request you, on no account, to
mention that circumstance to the Earl. It is
a matter in which he is not concerned, and of
which there is no need to inform him."

"But it seemed to me that he owed
twenty-five thousand . . . ."

William Trefalden smiled and shook his head.

"No, no," said he. " Nothing of the kind.
It is a simple transfer of capital—a  private
transaction in which the Earl's name has been
incidentally used; but only his name. He has
nothing to do with it, personally—nothing
whatever."

"But ... ."

"But you heard only the end of a conversation,
my dear fellow, and you misunderstood
the little you did hear. You understand that
this is not to be repeated?"

"Yes I understand," replied Saxon,
doubtfully.

"And I have your promise to observe my
request?"

Saxon hesitated.

"I don't doubt you, cousin William," he said,
bluntly; " though, of course, you know that
without my telling you. But I don't know how
to doubt my own ears, either. I heard that
big, cross-looking old fellow distinctly say that
Castletowers must pay him twenty-five thousand
pounds by the tenth of next month. What
can that mean, if not . . . ."

"Listen to me for three minutes, Saxon,"
interrupted Mr. Trefalden, good-humouredly.
"You have heard of such things as legal
fictions?"

"Yes; but I don't understand what they
are."

"Well—legal fictions are legally defined as
' things that have no real essence in their own
body, but are acknowledged and accepted in
law for some especial purpose.'"

"I don't understand that either."

"I should be surprised if you did," replied
his cousin, with a pleasant smile; " but I will
try to explain it to you. In law, as in other
things, my dear fellow, we are occasionally glad
to adopt some sort of harmless hypothesis in
order to arrive at conclusions which would
otherwise cost more time and trouble than they
are worth. Thus, when a legal contract is
made at sea, the deed is dated from London, or
Birmingham, or any inland place, in order to
draw what is called the cognisance of the suit
from the Courts of Admiralty to the Courts of
Westminster. Again, a plaintiff who brings an
action into the Court of Exchequer fictitiously
alleges himself to be the Queen's debtor. He
is not the Queen's debtor. He owes the Queen
no more than you owe her; but he must make
use of that expedient to bring himself under
the jurisdiction of that particular court."

"What intolerable nonsense!" exclaimed
Saxon.

"One more instance. Till within the last
eight years or so, the law of ejectment was
founded on a tissue of legal fictions, in which
an imaginary man called John Doe lodged a
complaint against another imaginary man called
Richard Roe, neither of whom ever existed in
any mortal form whatever. What do you say
to that?"

"I say, cousin, that if I were a lawyer, I
should be ashamed of a system made up of lies
like that!" replied Saxon.

Mr. Trefalden flung himself into his
armchair, and laughed.

"I won't have you abuse our legal fictions
in that way," he said. " These little things are
the romance of law, and keep our imaginations
from drying up."

"They ought not to be necessary," said
Saxon, who could not see the amusing side of
John Doe and Richard Roe.

"I grant you that. They have their origin,
no doubt, in some defect of the law. But then
we are not blessed with a Code Napoleon; and
perhaps we should not like it, if we were. Such
as our laws are, we must take them, and be
thankful. They might be a great deal worse,
depend on it."

"Then is it a legal fiction that Castletowers
owes Mr. Behrens twenty-five thousand
pounds?" asked Saxon.

William Trefalden winced. He had hoped
that the woolstapler's name would have escaped
Saxon's observation; but it had done nothing
of the kind. Saxon remembered every word
clearly enough; names, dates, amount of money,
and all.

"Precisely," replied the lawyer. "Lord
Castletowers no more owes Mr. Behrens
twenty-five thousand pounds than you do. He would
be a ruined man at this moment, Saxon, if he
did."

"He does not behave like a ruined man," said
Saxon.

"Of course not. He would not be filling his
house with guests and giving balls, if he were.