and defiant air of our friend, who stopped
occasionally and tossed his head, and—in spite
of deprecating gesture on Mr. Tilney's part—
raised his voice, and sent back to Mr. Tillotson's
ear a loud and angry "Once for all, I
tell you, Mr. Tilney."

In short, he could read off at once that poor
Mr. Tilney was a player in the dismal drama
of DEBT, and, as a genteel Sisyphus, was daily
rolling the heart-breaking stone of APPEARANCES
up the steep ways of EMBARRASSMENT.
In a second, and with a pang, for he thought
of the golden-haired girl, he saw the whole
course of their life, and what a strand of genteel
misery was woven in with it.

He turned away and walked round as if to see
by himself that "back view " of the old cathedral
which rivalled the Alhambra. In the absence
of his guide, he could not find this special
vista. But, after making a complete circuit, he
came suddenly on the house. The tradesman
was there still, in the porch, his voice reaching
to Mr. Tillotson at the little gate. But there
was another voice, soft, silvery, musical,
modulated to expostulation and entreaty. A glint
of the sunshine passing through the trellis-
work of the porch came upon that golden hair
and lit it up, and then, with another instinct,
Mr. Tillotson read off another secret of the
inner life of this family; how this sweet-
tongued girl was put forward as the Intercessor
and Mediatrix, to shield the persecuted family.
He had it all before him, as if he knew them
for years. Even now the pleading voice of the
Mediatrix was having its effect, the indignant
tradesman was grumbling, and, defending
himself, had presently put on his hat, and walked
away past Mr. Tillotson, sulkily. .

     CHAPTER XV. THE ASSIZES.

THERE was a good deal of stir in the assize
town that evening. It surged over with the
waters of ecclesiastical and legal society. A
stream of both was gurgling through the place.
Gowns of two sorts fluttered in the air. It
was known that the judges had arrived—with
the traditional pageantry—brought in, at a
slow pace, as if under a strong guard,
surrounded with a crowd, and looking gloomily out
of the carriage windows, like state prisoners
being conveyed to the Tower. From various
second floors over the festive grocers' shops,
looked out healthy, large-cheeked, large-
whiskered faces, the hands in relation to
which were in pockets; barristerial faces
and barristerial hands. Some were leaning
against the window-frame with their barristerial
feet up on the sill, others talking to short wiry
monastic-looking men, the whole of which
represented an eminent counsel receiving
"instructions" from a local agent.

Mr. Justice Buckstone and Mr. Baron
Hodder were at their lodgings, about which a
little crowd hung—and where, too, they were
regarded with a reverence and a submission
almost abject, as though they took their
commission from a power higher than the Queen.
Round through the town, dispersed in various
first floors, were the numerous members
of the circuit. Serjeant Ryder, Mr. Cobham,
Q.C., Mr. Wrigley, Q.C., Mr. Colter, Q.C.,
Belmore Jones, the well-known popular counsel,
who was as necessary to every breach
of promise case as the writ itself or one of
the issues, and who defended Chartists and
others "fearlessly," and with great speeches.
But he had so often thrown his head back, and
told judges melodramatically that he "stood
there to vindicate" innumerable rights, punctilios,
and etiquettes, and knew, on so many occasions,
what was due "to the gown he had the
honour and privilege to wear on his back," that he
had been looked coldly on as a forward and
troublesome person, and had not been honoured with
the mystic letters at the end of his name. These
being so dispersed through the place, were
regarded with a lesser and more subdued reverence,
Mr. Cobham, Mr. Exshaw, Mr. Serjeant Ryder,
known as "the Serjeant," Mr. Wrigley, Mr.
Colter, all her Majesty's counsel, together
with Bagely, Gibbs, and the juniors in good
business, were instantly, and almost before they
had time to get from the railway or take off
their coats, invaded by gentlemen with papers;
and "the Serjeant," in about five minutes, had
his hands in his trousers-pockets, walking up
and down the room (his characteristic mode of
laying his mind to a case), listening to his junior's
voice, which comes struggling through perfect
billows of white briefs. The old cathedral town
and some of our canons made a little first floor
profit during this invasion, thus wakened
up into a sort of owl-like animation; and
in all its nooks, and closes, and niches, and
quiet rusted corners, seemed to nod and flap,
and softly hoot with a mild ecclesiastical bustle.
But the grander scene was when half-past six
drew on, and this legal aristocracy was seen, still
with its hands in its pockets, crowding to the
White Hart to dine; where they were to sit
down some forty or fifty strong; where was the
Bar sherry and the Bar port—much relished by
the legal babes. But Colter, pale and worn, and
with faint eyes, was already wandering away
to Whichelo's Trusts, lying on his table at the
lodgings, or to Mill's case, which was to be "on"
first in the morning.

But as Sunday intervenes—supposed
reasonably to be a Day of Rest for all but poor
Colter and Bolt—it is worth while going up to
the cathedral to see the legal service for once.
Through all the monotony of Sunday after Sunday,
and the choristers and minor canons every
day at three, without change and the most
wearisome sameness, and Fugle with his "heart
panting," this is a very agreeable break. Mrs.
Toplady and her daughters get on their best and
go. Dissenting ladies even, drawn by natural
curiosity, go off also "to see the judges." Across
the green lawn in the Close the lines of
company seemed to trail and converge like gay
ribbons. The sun was out. The choir was full.
The vast clothes-presses seemed to creak
under the load, for every rank and every tier
were filled, and the rows of gay bonnets and
dresses were parted by the long bands of dark