During the winter, Ralph came up frequently from New York to visit his bride to be. As he was the nephew of Judge Bigelow, he and Wallingford were, as a thing of course, thrown often together during these visits. It can hardly excite wonder, that Wallingford maintained a reserved and distant demeanor towards the young man, steadily repelling all familiarity, yet always treating him with such politeness and respect that no cause of offence could appear. On the part of Dewey, it may be said that he saw little in the grave plodder among dusty law books and discolored parchments, that won upon his regard. He looked upon him as a young man good enough in his way--a very small way, in his estimation--good enough for S----, and small enough for a country town lawyer. He would have put on towards him a patronizing air, and tried to excite in his mind a nobler ambition than to move in our circumscribed sphere, if something in the young man's steady, penetrating, half-mysterious eye had not always held him back: “I never can talk with that young associate or yours, uncle,” he would say, now and then, to Judge Bigelow, “and I can't just make him out. Is he stupid, or queer?” The Judge would smile, or laugh quietly to himself, or perhaps answer in this wise: “I think Henry understands himself. Still waters, you know, run deep.” One day in February, on the occasion of a periodical visit to S----, young Dewey called in at Judge Bigelow's office, and finding Wallingford alone, sat down and entered into as familiar a talk with him as was possible, considering how little they had in common. Ralph had a purpose in view, and as soon as he saw, or thought he saw, Wallingford's mind in the right mood, said-- “I am going to ask a particular favor, and you must not refuse.” “If I can serve you in any thing, it will be my pleasure to do so,” was the ready answer. “You know that I am to be married next month?” “So I have heard,” replied Wallingford. “You will stand my groomsman? Don't say no!” He had seen an instant negative in the young man's face. “Almost any thing else, but not that!” replied Henry, speaking with some feeling. He was thrown off his guard by so unexpected a request. “Come now, my good friend, don't take the matter so much to heart!” said Dewey, in a light way. “Plenty of good fish in the sea yet--as good as ever were caught. You must forgive the girl for liking me the best.” “You jest on a grave subject,” said Wallingford, his face growing pale, but his eyes, a little dilated, riveting his companion's where he stood. “No, I am in earnest,” said Dewey, with something in his manner that was offensive. “Jest or earnest, your familiarity is out of place with me,” retorted Wallingford, with a sternness of manner, that quickened the flow of bad blood in Dewey's heart.