"I don't know, Burgess. I can't say. I'll try, but I hope he will be better now." "I hope and pray he may, sir," said the man, fervently; and Artingale went on into the bedroom, to see that his friend had placed Julia's picture on the easel at the farther side of the bed in full sight from where he lay; and as the young man's eyes lighted upon the prostrate figure, he uttered a cry which brought in the man. "Quick, Burgess, quick! The nearest doctor." A fruitless errand: James Magnus, after his long and weary pilgrimage, was resting peacefully where there is no dreaming of revenge. Of a broken heart! So it was said, for the secret was well kept. There are men who dare to make the rush headlong from this world. PART THREE, CHAPTER ONE. PART 3--THE BARRISTER'S DAY. IN CHAMBERS. "With a rum-tum, tum-tum, tiddy-iddy tum, tiddy-rum-tum, tiddy-iddy bang!" This was sung in a low-pitched, not unmusical voice, by a stunted, thickly-set lad of seventeen or eighteen, being his version of the well-known "March of the British Grenadiers"; and as he puffed forth the air in imitation of a wind instrument, the musical youth paraded the well-furnished office he occupied, with an enormous ebony ruler over his shoulder, held sword-fashion, and the stove poker in his left hand carried like a scabbard. He was so far on the alert that he kept one eye upon a green baize-covered inner door, evidently leading into a private room, but not sufficiently watchful to see that another door had been opened, for as he got through a second strain of the march he called, softly, in imitation of a commanding officer, "Halt!--right about face. Band to the front!" Then his jaw dropped, and he made a bound to his desk. The reason of this change was that a stern, dry-looking, well-dressed man stood there, with an umbrella in one hand, a blue bag in the other, and he did not smile, but showed his teeth slightly, as he saw the lad's confusion. "Drilling, eh?" he said, shutting the door close behind him. "Going to join the army?" "No, sir," said the boy, smartly. "Of course not," said the visitor. "Much too short." "Please, sir, I can't help that," said the boy, whose face was now scarlet; "and I shall grow." "Only wiser, boy," said the visitor, "not taller. Wiser; and then you won't go and be shot at for a few pennies a day. Mr Ross in?" "Don't know, sir. I'll see," said the boy. "Yes, you do know," snarled the visitor; "and he is in, or else you wouldn't have gone about on tiptoe. Take in my card." "Mr Swift, Cripple and Swift," read the boy. "Yes, and be quick. Time's money, boy." "Yes, sir. Take a chair, sir," said the lad, whose martial ardour had cooled into business; and he opened the baize door, let it close behind him, and knocked at the panel of an inner door, the knock sounding muffled and distant to the visitor. "Come in!"