Such, then, was the state of matters in this little circle, when the wedding took place, and John Wilmeter joined the family party. Although Dunscomb did all he could to make the dinner gay, Rattletrap had seldom entertained a more silent company than that which sat down at its little round table on this occasion. John thought of Biberry and Mary Monson; Sarah’s imagination was quite busy in wondering why Michael Millington stayed away so long; and Anna was on the point of bursting into tears half-a-dozen times, under the depression produced by the joint events of her mother’s marriage, and John Wilmeter’s obvious change of deportment towards her. “What the deuce has kept Michael Millington and that fellow Timms, from joining us at dinner,” said the master of the house, as the fruit was placed upon the table; and, closing one eye, he looked with the other through the ruby rays of a glass of well-cooled Madeira—his favourite wine. “Both promised to be punctual; yet here are they both sadly out of time. They knew the dinner was to come off at four.” “As is one, sir, so are both,” answered John. “You will remember they were to come together?” “True—and Millington is rather a punctual man—especially in visiting at Rattletrap”—here Sarah blushed a little; but the engagement in her case being announced, there was no occasion for any particular confusion. “We shall have to take Michael with us into Duke’s next week, Miss Wilmeter; the case being too grave to neglect bringing up all our forces.” “Is Jack, too, to take a part in the trial, uncle Tom?” demanded the niece, with a little interest in the answer. “Jack, too—everybody, in short. When the life of a fine young woman is concerned, it behooves her counsel to be active and diligent. I have never before had a cause into which my feelings have so completely entered—no, never.” “Do not counsel always enter, heart and hand, into their clients’ interests, and make themselves, as it might be, as you gentlemen of the bar sometimes term these things, a ‘part and parcel’ of their concerns?” This question was put by Sarah, but it caused Anna to raise her eyes from the fruit she was pretending to eat, and to listen intently to the reply. Perhaps she fancied that the answer might explain the absorbed manner in which John had engaged in the service of the accused. “As far from it as possible, in many cases,” returned the uncle; “though there certainly are others in which one engages with all his feelings. But every day lessens my interest in the law, and all that belongs to it.” “Why should that be so, sir?—I have heard you called a devotee of the profession.”