enthusiasts; or stay--I once was a lawyer, and" (continued Darrell, whose
irony had become so integral an attribute of his mind as to be proof
against all trial) "there are men so out of their wits as to fancy a
lawyer has ruined them! Lionel, tell poor Dick Fairthorn to come to me."
When the musician entered, Darrell whispered to him: "Go back to your
room--open your casement--step out on to the parapet--you will see
something white; it is a scrap of paper wrapped round my old armorial
seal. Bring it to me just as it is, Dick. That poor young Lionel, we
must keep him here a day or two; mind, no prickles for him, Dick."




CHAPTER III.

ARABELLA CRANE VERSUS GUY DARRELL; OR, WOMAN VERSUS LAWYER. IN THE
COURTS, LAWYER WOULD WIN; BUT IN A PRIVATE PARLOUR, FOOT TO FOOT,
AND TONGUE TO TONGUE, LAWYER HAS NOT A CHANCE.

Arabella Crane entered the room: Darrell hesitated--the remembrances
attached to her were so painful and repugnant. But did he not now owe to
her perhaps his very life? He passed his hand rapidly over his brow, as
if to sweep away all earlier recollections, and, advancing quickly,
extended that hand to her. The stern woman shook her head, and rejected
the proffered greeting.

"You owe me no thanks," she said, in her harsh, ungracious accents; "I
sought to save not you, but him."

"How!" said Darrell, startled; "you feel no resentment against the man