"Hear the other side, my dear Sir," rejoined the doctor, "such game as I have been speaking of is too small for him. He was once poor; he is now very rich. I have rarely heard of his having a client who somehow did not ruin himself; and although I do not by any means intend to say that I have been able to trace Mr. Wharton's hand in their destruction, certain it is that the bulk of the property--at least a large share of what they squandered or lost has found its way into his possession. I have seen him always ready to smooth men's way to destruction, to lend money, to encourage extravagance, to lull apprehension, to embarrass efforts at retrenchment, and then when the beast was in the toils, to despatch it and take his share. No mercy then when ruin is inevitable; the lawyer must be paid, and must be paid first." "And now for Mr. Bac on?" said Beauchamp. "Why he is simply a vulgar little man," answered the clergyman, "coarse in manners and in person: cunning and stolid, but with a competent knowledge of law; keen at finding out faults and flaws. His practice is in an inferior line to the other's, but he is at all events safer, and I believe more honest." "How do you mean, cunning and stolid?" asked Beauchamp, "those two qualities would seem to me incompatible." "Oh dear no," replied Dr. Miles; but before he could explain, the butler announced dinner, and as Sir John gave his arm to Mrs. Clifford, Beauchamp advanced towards Isabella. The doors were thrown wide open, and the party were issuing forth to cross the vestibule to the dining-room, when suddenly Sir John and his sister halted, encountered by an apparition which certainly was unexpected in the form that it assumed. In fact they had not taken two steps out of the drawing-room ere the glass doors were flung open, and Ned Hayward stood before them as unlike the Ned Hayward I first presented to the reader as possible. His coat was covered with a dull whitish gray powder, his linen soiled, and apparently singed, his hands and face as black as soot, his glossy brown hair rugged and burnt, no hat upon his head, and in his arms a very pretty boy of about two years old, or a little more perhaps, on whose face were evident marks of recent tears, though he seemed now pacified, and was staring about with large eyes at the various objects in the large house to which he was just introduced. "Why Ned, Ned, Ned, what in the mischief's name has happened to you?" exclaimed Sir John Slingsby, "have you all at once become a poor young man with a small family of young children?" "No, my dear Sir," answered Ned Hayward in a hurried tone, "but if you have any women in the house I will give this little fellow into their care and tell you all about it in a few minutes. Hush, my little man, hush. We are all friends: we will take care of you. Now don't cry again: no harm shall happen."