“Thank you, Mr. Northcote,” said the judge in a low but distinct voice. “I understand perfectly well the circumstances in which these words were spoken. They gave me pain, but I do not hold you blameworthy. I viewed with keen sympathy the position in which you were placed; and I accept without reservation the apology which with an equal absence of reservation you have conceived it your duty to tender to me. I don’t know whether I can be permitted to offer a suggestion in a matter of this kind, but if, Mr. Northcote, you could see your way towards the inclusion of your friend Mr. Weekes in this extremely honorable _amende_--” “I will, my lord--I do!” cried the impetuous young man, turning towards the place of the senior counsel for the Treasury. “I regret to say, my lord,” said Mr. Topott, rising and bowing to the judge and to Northcote, “that my learned friend has already left the precincts of the court; but I feel sure I am entitled to state, that were he now present he would accept these words of Mr. Northcote in the spirit in which they are offered.” The judge left the bench and the court emptied rapidly. Mr. Whitcomb, who had remained most of the day in Northcote’s vicinity, plucked him by the sleeve as he rose and gathered his papers. “I know now what you mean by the genie,” said he. “I shall send a wire to Tobin at the hospital. I should like to see his face when he gets it.” Northcote was too highly wrought to appreciate a word that was uttered by the solicitor. He could only smile and nod and wish him good night, all of which was done with incoherence and abruptness. As the young man passed out of the court, an elderly unfortunate, without any teeth, one-half of whose face had been destroyed by disease, crept from her hiding-place in a dark corner of the corridor. She grabbed the hem of Northcote’s gown and carried it to her lips. “Gawd bless yer, guv’ner,” she mumbled, in a thick, wheezy whisper. In the barristers’ robing-room the entrance of Northcote created a stir. Jumbo, a bencher of Northcote’s inn, and like all who are not afraid to present themselves without reserve, just as nature devised them, a man of immense popularity, hit the young advocate a blow on the shoulder. “When can I stand you a bottle, dear boy? Fine work!” The son of the Master of the Rolls came up. “I say, Northcote,” he said, “you don’t remember me? I’m Hutton. I was in Foxey’s house with you at school.” “Of course, of course,” said Northcote, hardly knowing a word that he spoke; “I remember you perfectly well. You have not altered at all.” “You’ve not altered much, although you look awfully old and very much thinner than you used to look. I want you to mention an evening that you can come round and dine with my governor--you remember the governor I used to get ragged so tremendously for boasting about? He will be delighted to meet you. I shall tell him all about this; he is the kindest old soul.”