and the whole person full of languor and grief, no one would have
recognized the rough, bearish Lawyer Rushton, or believed that there
could be anything in common between him and the individual sitting at
the table, so bowed down with sorrow.

Before him lay a little book, which he looked at through a mist of
tears.

Roundjacket touched him on the shoulder, with a glance of wonder, and
said:--

"You are sick, sir!--Mr. Rushton, sir!--there is somebody to see you."

In truth, the honest fellow could scarcely stammer out these broken
words; and when Mr. Rushton, slowly returning to a consciousness of
his whereabouts, raised his sorrowful eyes, Roundjacket looked at him
with profound commiseration and sympathy.

"You have forgotten," said Mr. Rushton, in a low, broken voice, his
pale lips trembling as he spoke,--"you don't keep account of the days
as I do, Roundjacket."

"The days--I--"

"Yes, yes; it is natural for you to wonder at all this," said the
weary looking man, closing the book, and locking it up in a secret
drawer of the table; "let us dismiss the matter. Did you say any one
wanted me? Yes, I can attend to business--my mind is quite clear--I am
ready--I will see them now, Roundjacket."