“Timms, you have fallen in love with our handsome client,” he quietly remarked. “No, sir; not quite as bad as that, _yet_; though I will acknowledge that the lady is very interesting. Should she be acquitted, and could we only get some knowledge of her early history—why, that _might_ put a new face on matters.” “I must drive over to Biberry in the morning, and have another interview with the lady myself. And now, Ned, I will join your wife, and read an epithalamium prepared for this great occasion. You need not trouble yourself to follow, the song being no novelty; for I have read it twice before on your account.” A hearty laugh at his own wit concluded the discourse on the part of the great York counsellor; though Timms remained some time longer with the Doctor, questioning the latter touching opinions and facts gleaned by the physician in the course of his circuit. CHAPTER XIV. “From his brimstone bed at break of day, A walking the devil is gone, To visit his little snug farm of the earth, And see how his stock went on.” _Coleridge._ Dunscomb was as good as his word. Next morning he was on his way to Biberry. He was thoughtful; had laid a bundle of papers on the front seat of the carriage, and went his way musing and silent. Singularly enough, his only companion was Anna Updyke, who had asked a seat in the carriage timidly, but with an earnestness that prevailed. Had Jack Wilmeter been at Biberry, this request would not have been made; but she knew he was in town, and that she might make the little excursion without the imputation of indelicacy, so far as he was concerned. Her object will appear in the course of the narrative. The “best tavern” in Biberry was kept by Daniel Horton. The wife of this good man had a native propensity to talk that had been essentially cultivated in the course of five-and-twenty years’ practice in the inn where she had commenced her career as maid; and was now finishing it as mistress. As is common with persons of her class, she knew hundreds of those who frequented her house; calling each readily by name, and treating every one with a certain degree of professional familiarity that is far from uncommon in country inns. “Mr. Dunscomb, I declare!” cried this woman, as she entered the room, and found the counsellor and his companion in possession of her best parlour. “This is a pleasure I did not expect until the circuit. It’s quite twenty years, ’Squire, since I had the pleasure of first waiting on you in this house. And a pleasure it has always been; for I’ve not forgotten the ejectment suit that you carried for Horton when we was only new-beginners. I am glad to see you, sir; welcome to Biberry, as is this young lady, who is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Dunscomb?” “You forget that I am a bachelor, Mrs. Horton—no marrying man, in any sense of the word.”