But one day a strange thing happened. At the rising of the Courts a knotty legal point which had been sprung upon Herriard by the opening counsel remained undecided. Herriard was going to speak in the House that night, and so, being rather nonplussed by the point of law, and not knowing when he might get away from the division, he jumped into a hansom and drove off to Mayfair with the intention of putting the point to Gastineau while the arguments were still fresh in his mind, and so being put up to a telling reply. To his surprise, and for the first time during their acquaintance, Gastineau was denied to him. The bolt of the latch was shot, and his key would not turn it. He rang, and Gastineau’s man, Hencher, who opened the door, said, with a manner of significant insistence, that his master could not see Mr. Herriard that afternoon. Herriard stared. Such a reception was the last thing he would have looked for. “Is anything the matter?” he enquired anxiously. “Mr. Murray is not ill, not worse?” Yes; Hencher thought, his master was ill, at least he was in great pain. He could not bring himself to see any one just then; and hoped, if Mr. Herriard called, he would make allowances and forgive him. There was no more to be said. The impulse of friendship and gratitude had at first prompted Herriard to go up and see whether he could be of any use or comfort in alleviating the stricken man’s sufferings, but Hencher stood uncompromisingly in the aperture of the half-opened door, and made no suggestion of admitting him. So Herriard, with a sympathetic message for his friend, turned away, puzzled and a little hurt. Pain? It was curious. Since the accident which crippled him he had never heard Gastineau complain of pain. His state had been one of sheer helplessness and, so far as his lower limbs were concerned, of complete insensibility. Then, even if Gastineau were in pain, why had he refused to see the man who obviously was his only friend? He could not understand it. Had Gastineau’s feelings changed towards him? He could think of no reason why that should be. The incident worried and depressed him more than he cared to own; anyhow, though, he would return that night when the House was up, and then doubtless would know the reason of that strange denial. When at a late hour he drove up, the lock which he had half expected to find secured against him, yielded to his key, and Gastineau received him with all his usual suggestion of warmth, and with a laughing apology for what had happened in the afternoon. “But really, my dear Geof, I was not fit to receive a dog, let alone my best friend, my only friend. I can’t forget that, you know,” he added, with a fascinating touch of feeling; “and simply dreaded lest my pain might have driven me to an impatience, even with you, which might have cast a shadow between us.”