not with the lady you have mentioned at the
precise time she is so sure he was. could you?"

"No, I could not. Because I was at Bath
on the ninth of last June," the physician
answered; "You seem to know the lady."

"Possibly."

Mrs. Tuckey experienced very few of the
attorney's attentions from that moment; for
he was plunged into a whispered conversation
with the doctor, whom he rightly guessed to
be Dr. Bole. He stated that he was the
attorney for George Dornley's defence. The
crown had got nothing by using him shabbily,
and giving the case for the prosecution to
Battam and Ball, of Derby, his rivals, as
they would see; for, having, as public officer
of Nottingham, got hold of certain documents
at the preliminary examination, he could
impede, if riot overthrow the prosecution.
But there were still certain facts which he
wanted to know. He could not account,
for instance, for the taciturnity and utter
indifference of George Dornley to the result of
his trial. Dr. Bole could. Mr. and Mrs.
Calder Dornley had estranged him from his
young and suffering wife; from Lord Wordley,
and irreparably from his father.

"You have not received a subpoena, have
you ? " Vollum asked.

"No. What do I know of the matter?"

"Enough," said Vollum to himself, " to
upset my defence: and" (aloud) "you won't
be perhaps ?"

"Not if I can help it. Indeed, I expect to
meet the Crookston Hall travelling-carriage at
Ripley to take me on to Bath; for, while
visiting the patient at Nottingham I am now
coming from, I got a summons informing me
of old Mr. Dornley being in extremis."

The attorney rubbed his hands, and stared
over his spectacles at Mrs. Tuckey more
abstractedly than ever; talking to himself and
taking notes of his own conversation with a
pencil upon a card.

The conversation was, after this pause, taken
up by the barrister, who began describing a
case in which he had got off a poacher,
by evidence that turned out to be false.
The physician exclaimed, "Surely that passed
the bounds of professional morality!"

"Not at all," the attorney struck in; "you
must remember that a barrister is bound to do
the best he can for his client; and we must also
remember that the barrister is not the judge.
It is not for him to pronounce upon the
likelihood or falsehood of the statements in
his brief: all he has got to do is to stick
them into the jury as hard as he can. The
use of the go-between, an attorney, is, to
select what facts to lay before counsel, and
to decide what facts to conceal from him."

"Then the attorney is the culprit," the old
gentleman persisted.

"Nothing of the sort. The attorney won't
learn too much if he knows his business
Supposing a person thinks himself (many
a person does) more culpable than he is."

"Surely, I should know if I had committed
murder," replied the doctor.

"No, you may not," Vollum answered,
quickly. "You would, of course, know
whether you had killed any one or not;
but you may not know whether you killed
him with all the circumstances which, in
the eye of the law, go to make a murder.
In civil cases it constantly happens that
people believe themselves to be in the wrong
when they are in the right. Everything
depends upon counsel."

"I only hope Mr. Dornley will be fortunate
in his counsel," said the doctor.

Mr. Vollum feared not. Sergeant Penett
having been suddenly taken ill, the weight of
the defence would fall on the junior, Mr.
Marsden, who was coming down special.
Here an extraordinary phenomenon occurred
—the barrister in the corner seat blushed to
the ears.

"I have been," continued the attorney,
"back to Nottingham to see what I could get
out of the witnesses for the prosecution that
might tell in our favour. This lady's daughter
is one of them." Mrs. Tuckey now blushed
also—a deeper colour than her ribbons. The
county magistrate, still with his face out of
window, turned up the collar of his coat to
the very corners of his eyes.

Here the coach stopped, and the guard
opened the door to announce their arrival at
Ripley.

"O, Ripley, is it?" was ejaculated through
the edges of the coat-collar. "Don't shut the
door. I'll get out here. Good day, gentlemen!
Good day, ma'am! " Tightening his
hat, and bringing the flaxen wig down over
his forehead, the Squire alighted, and strode
into the inn without looking round.

"Well, but," intercepted the guard, showing
his way-bill, "you're booked for Darby, sir."

"Very true, but I don't want to be in
Darby till to-morrow. My portmanteau is
in the fore-boot." The traveller then
disappeared in the shadow of the inn-porch,
without bestowing one instant on the extrication
of his luggage from the boot, or the
guard's expected half-crown from his pocket.

That sum was, however, adroitly adminis-
tered by another hand. "I want." insinuated
Mr. Vollum, ''to have one look at your waybill:
only to know the names of the passengers."

"O, you needn't look. The big fellow
just got out calls himself Robert Bumption,
Esquire; booked in London. The
old gentleman in black is Doctor Bole of
Matlock; and the tall chap is Mr. Marsden,
a counsellor. The box-seat is Battam's clerk
from Darby, in charge of witnesses for
tomorrow's trial."

Before Mr. Vollum could finish the
prolonged whistle this news had prompted, a
carriage and four dashed up, too fast and too
close to the stage coach to please the near
leader, which reared and plunged in an
ungovernable manner.