With a grave bow, Luke Sharp offered Russel the fragments of his pet hunting-crop, which he had caught from his hand, and snapped like a stick of peppermint, as he spoke. Overshute thought himself a fine, strong fellow, and with very good reason; but the quickness of his antagonist left him gasping. "I want no apologies," Mr. Sharp continued, going to his desk; while the young man looked sadly at his brazen-knockered butt, for he had been at that admirable college, and cherished his chief reminiscence of it thus. "Apologies are always waste of time. You have threatened me, and you have found your mistake. Such a formidable antagonist makes one's hand shake. Still, I think that I can hit my key-hole." "You can always make your keys fit, I dare say. But you never could do that to me again." "Very likely not. I shall never care to try it. Physical force is always low. But, as a gentleman, you must own that you first offered violence." "Mr. Sharp, I confess that I did. Not in word, or deed; but still my manner fairly imported it. And the first respect I ever felt for you, I feel now, for your quickness and pluck." "I am pleased with any respect from you; because you have little for anything. Now, repeat your question, moderately." "Where have you put Grace Oglander?" "Let me offer you a chair again. Striding about with frozen feet is almost the worst thing a man can do. However, you seem to be a little excited. Have you brought me a letter from my client, to authorize this inquiry?" "From Mr. Oglander? Oh no! He has no idea of my being here." "We will get over that. You are a friend of his, and a neighbour. He has asked you, in a general way, to help him in this sad great trouble." "Not at all. He would rather not have my interference. He does not like its motive." "And the motive is, that like many other people, you were attached to this young lady?" "Certainly, I am. I would give my life at any moment for her." "Well, well; I will not speak quite so strongly as you do. Life grows dearer as it gets more short. But still, I would give my best year remaining to get to the bottom of this problem." "You would?" cried young Overshute, looking at him, with admiration of his strength and truth. "Give me your hand, sir? I have wronged you! I see that I am but a hasty fool!" "You should never own that," said the lawyer. CHAPTER XII. MR. JOHN SMITH.