“I should think I _am_ proud of him, Madam,” said he, rising, and speaking with a boldness that amazed even himself. “I was proud to be his class-fellow at school; I was proud to sit in the same division with him in college,--proud when he won his gold medal and carried off his fellowship. It was a proud day to me when I saw him take his seat on the bench; and my heart nearly burst with pride when he placed me on his right hand at dinner, and told the Benchers and the Bar that we had walked the road of life together, and that the grasp of my hand--he called it my honest hand--had been the ever-present earnest of each success he had achieved in his career. Yes, Madam, I am very proud of him; and my heart must be cold indeed before I cease to be proud of him.” “I declare, sir, you astonish, you amaze me. I was well aware how that truly great and wise man had often inspired the eloquence of attack. Many have assailed--many have vituperated him; but that any one should have delivered a panegyric on the inestimable value of his friendship!--his friendship, of all things!--is what I was not prepared for.” Haire heard the ringing raillery of her laugh; he was stung by he knew not what tortures of her scornful impertinence; bitter, biting words, very cruel words, too, fell over and around him like a sort of hail; they beat on his face and rattled over his head and shoulders. He was conscious of a storm, and conscious too that he sought neither shelter nor defence, but only tried to fly before the hurricane, whither he knew not. How he quitted that room, descended the stairs, and escaped from the house, he never was able to recall. He was far away outside the city wandering along through an unfrequented suburb ere he came to his full consciousness, murmuring to himself ever as he went, “What a woman, what a woman! what a temper,--ay, and what a tongue!” Without any guidance of his own--without any consciousness of it--he walked on and on, till he found himself at the gate-lodge of the Priory; a carriage was just passing in, and he stopped to ask whose it was. It was the Chief Baron's granddaughter who had arrived that morning by train. He turned back when he heard this, and returned to town. “Whether you like it or not, Lady Lendrick, it is done now, and there 's no good in carrying on the issue after the verdict.” And with this reflection, embodying possibly as much wisdom as his whole career had taught him, he hastened homeward, secretly determining, if he possibly could, never to reveal anything to the Chief Baron of his late interview with Lady Lendrick. CHAPTER XVI. SORROWS AND PROJECTS