The Chancellor rises; the bar rises; the prisoner is brought forward in a hurry; the man from Shropshire cries, "My lord!" Maces, bags, and purses, indignantly proclaim silence, and frown at the man from Shropshire. "In reference," proceeds the Chancellor, "still on Jarndyce and Jarndyce, to the young girl----." "Begludship's pardon--boy," says Mr. Tangle, prematurely. "In reference," proceeds the Chancellor, with extra distinctness, "to the young girl and boy, the two young people." (Mr. Tangle crushed.) "Whom I directed to be in attendance to-day, and who are now in my private room, I will see them and satisfy myself as to the expediency of making the order for their residing with their uncle." Mr. Tangle on his legs again. "Begludship's pardon--dead." "With their," Chancellor looking through his double eye-glass at the papers on his desk, "grandfather." "Begludship's pardon--victim of rash action--brains." Suddenly a very little counsel, with a terrific bass voice, arises, fully inflated, in the back settlements of the fog, and says, "Will your lordship allow me? I appear for him. He is a cousin, several times removed. I am not at the moment prepared to inform the Court in what exact remove he is a cousin; but he _is_ a cousin." Leaving this address (delivered like a sepulchral message) ringing in the rafters of the roof, the very little counsel drops, and the fog knows him no more. Every body looks for him. Nobody can see him. "I will speak with both the young people," says the Chancellor anew, "and satisfy myself on the subject of their residing with their cousin. I will mention the matter to-morrow morning when I take my seat." The Chancellor is about to bow to the bar, when the prisoner is presented. Nothing can possibly come of the prisoner's conglomeration, but his being sent back to prison; which is soon done. The man from Shropshire ventures another remonstrative "My lord!" but the Chancellor, being aware of him, has dexterously vanished. Every body else quickly vanishes too. A battery of blue bags is loaded with heavy charges of papers and carried off by clerks; the little mad old woman marches off with her documents; the empty court is locked up. If all the injustice it has committed, and all the misery it has caused, could only be locked up with it, and the whole burnt away in a great funeral pyre--why, so much the better for other parties than the parties in Jarndyce and Jarndyce! CHAPTER II.--IN FASHION.