"Lieutenant Heartwell of the Royal Navy, madam, I presume," said the clerk, obsequiously bowing. "Have I the honour to address his worthy lady?"
"He is my husband, sir," answered the lady, proudly, for there was something in the manners of the man that excited unpleasant sensations—a smirking attempt to please that but ill accorded with his look and appearance. "Was Mr. Heartwell here yesterday?"
"Most assuredly he was, madam," responded the clerk. "I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred."
"Confound the lubber, he seems to know it," mumbled Ben, whose keen gaze had been fixed upon the man. "I wish my lady ud let me ax him a bit of his catechiz."
"At what hour did Mr. Heartwell quit this office?" inquired the agitated woman.
"At what hour, madam?" repeated the clerk, casting his eyes up to a clock that hung, or rather stood, in the corner; "why really I cannot call to recollection the precise hour—I was so busily engaged upon the will of Mr. Checkwell, the rich banker, who was not expected to live many hours—indeed he died this morning, and if that last testament had not been made out as quick as it was, so as to enable him to sign it, all his property would have gone amongst his poor relations—but now he has bequeathed it to a favorite niece"—and the man smiled—"he will be a fortunate fellow who wins her favour—two hundred thousand pounds and—"
"Oh, what's the odds so as you're happy?" exclaimed Ben, peevishly interrupting him. "Jist tell my lady when the leftenant hauled his wind out of this."
"Hauled his wind out of this?" reiterated the clerk, giving the worthy tar a sidelong glance of contempt. "Speak English, my friend."
Ben was about to reply in no very gentle terms, but his mistress raised her hand, and the tar was silent. She then turned to the clerk. "I have put a plain and simple question to you, sir; will you oblige me with an answer?"
"Why really, madam, I beg pardon—but the question has escaped my memory," responded the man, as if desirous of gaining time.
"I asked you at what hour Mr. Heartwell quitted this place," repeated the lady, her heart swelling almost to bursting.
"Oh—ay—I trust you will excuse me. I remember now," answered the clerk, as he retired to his desk; "but the will, madam, the will of Mr. Checkwell occupied my whole attention. Yet let me see: it must have been eight o'clock. No, it was later than that; but Mr. Brady can inform you most correctly, I have no doubt: he will be here in a few minutes. Will you walk in, and the young gentleman with you?" and, rising, he opened the door to an inner room. "There are chairs: as for my friend here, he will perhaps remain in the outer office."
Mrs. Heartwell entered a spacious apartment, the windows admitting an unobstructed light, which was thrown upon a large oblong table, bearing innumerable packages of letters and documents tied up with red tape or green ribbon, according to the rank of the client. The walls of the room were nearly concealed behind law-books and japanned boxes with painted initials on their fronts—though some bore in full the names of highly respectable firms and companies, and one or two displayed the titles of noblemen. On the floor were pieces of carpet resembling ancient tapestry, and there were three chairs of dark oak, the seats cased with leather, the original colour of which it was impossible to detect.
The lady, with her son by her side, retired into a part of the apartment that was somewhat obscured by shade; and here, as she sate awaiting the coming of the individual on whose knowledge seemed to rest her future happiness or misery, her thoughts reverted to the previous evening when her husband was in that very same apartment; and as there were two chairs placed at a part of the table that was cleared from papers, she conjectured that one had been occupied by the lieutenant; and small as the matter might seem in the estimation of others, she would have given much to have known which of the two it was. Then arose other contemplations: one of the chairs was doubtless for the clients—the other, at a more respectful distance, for the suppliants who came to entreat for delay against the execution of the law, or to appeal for the extension of mercy from his creditor. Oh! how many sorrowing spirits grieving over blighted hopes and desolated prospects—how many breaking hearts, crushed beneath the torturing pressure of affliction that verged upon despair—how many upbraiding consciences, filled with remorse at past deeds of shame or extravagance—had been there! Parents, who had reduced their offspring from affluence to poverty, through crime or indiscretion—husbands that had wasted their substance, and brought their wives to want—ruined merchants and tradesmen who had borne a good name in the world, but, surrounded by difficulties which they could not master, were compelled to have their names announced in the Gazette. What a wide field for reflection was there!
At length Mr. Brady arrived; and, after a short consultation with his clerk, the door of his room opened, and Mrs. Heartwell beheld a gentlemanly-looking man of about thirty years of age, whose firm-set frame gave evidence of strong muscular powers. His limbs were large, but yet in just proportion to the rest of his body; and a handsomely formed pair of legs were well displayed in tight black silk stockings. His features were of a repulsive cast: a round, bullet-head, with high cheek-bones and protruding bushy eyebrows that frowned above a pair of large but piercing black eyes, which, like the rattlesnake's, had something of fascination in them.
There is a world of language in the human eye that carries with it its own translation; and when Mrs. Heartwell saw the bright orbs of the lawyer as he looked round the room, a strange thrill came over her bosom—an indefinable sensation that sickened her very heart: she had never, to her recollection, seen Mr. Brady before that moment; yet the piercing keenness of his eyes was vividly pictured on her memory—they were familiar to the mind as having at some former period occasioned much distress, but where or when, or with what connexion, baffled remembrance was utterly at fault.
The lady tremblingly arose as the lawyer approached; but her agitation was considerably diminished when a voice, soft and gentle, and sweetly harmonious, requested her "to be seated," and she again resumed the chair; whilst Frank, overawed by the presence of Mr. Brady, took up a position nearly behind his mother so as scarcely to be seen, though he commanded a perfect view of all that was going on. The lawyer retired to the corner of the table, against which he reclined with his left hand resting on the corner; he raised his right to his chin, and fixing his eyes on the distressed lady, seemed to devote himself to mute attention.
Mrs. Heartwell told her name and related the cause of her visit, which drew forth no remark nor a single token that she was heard, till the narrative was ended, and even then he continued for a minute or two in deep and unmoved silence. At length he uttered in accents of soothing kindness—
"I trust, my dear lady, that you will not distress yourself unnecessarily. Affairs may not be so bad as you anticipate; and yet—" he paused for a moment, and then inquired, "Had Mr. Heartwell no friends in your neighbourhood on whom he could call in his way home?"
"We have but few acquaintances, sir, and but fewer friends," returned the lady mournfully; "besides, I am certain that my husband would not have willingly remained away from home all night."
"Was Mr. Heartwell at all addicted—you will excuse my putting so plain a question, nothing but the urgency of the occasion would compel me—but was Mr. Heartwell at all addicted to drinking—I mean so as to become inebriated?" inquired the lawyer.
"No, sir, never—never," said the lady firmly; "a better husband, a kinder father, a more sober man never existed—and these very qualities do but increase my fears for his safety."
"I am gratified to hear it," responded the lawyer. "Mr. Heartwell transacted business with me yesterday to a very large extent; we had some wine together, and what with his good fortune and the generous liquor, I must own he was somewhat elevated when we parted."
Mrs. Heartwell paused for a moment or two before she responded. The affection she had always cherished for her husband had produced unbounded confidence in all his actions: she knew that sailors were fond of the social glass, but she had never seen him indulge to excess, nor witnessed anything that could induce her to suppose that he had done so; and the thought that Mr. Brady implied, that he was drunk, went with thrilling