He stood on my hearthrug, leaning on the chimney-piece, with a gloomy, thoughtful brow, as I was pleased to see, and not in the least as though he were vain of the late proceedings. "Well?" said I. "You have done it now!" "Is he gone?" he asked. "He is gone," said I. "We shall have the devil to pay with him when he comes back." "You are right," said the lawyer, "and very little to pay him with but flams and fabrications, like to-night's." "To-night's?" I repeated. "Ay, to-night's!" said he. "To-night's _what_?" I cried. "To-night's flams and fabrications." "God be good to me, sir," said I, "have I something more to admire in your conduct than ever _I_ had suspected? You cannot think how you interest me! That it was severe, I knew; I had already chuckled over that. But that it should be false also! In what sense, dear sir?" I believe I was extremely offensive as I put the question, but the lawyer paid no heed. "False in all senses of the word," he replied seriously. "False in the sense that they were not true, and false in the sense that they were not real; false in the sense that I boasted, and in the sense that I lied. How can I arrest him? Your uncle burned the papers! I told you so--but doubtless you have forgotten--the day I first saw you in Edinburgh Castle. It was an act of generosity; I have seen many of these acts, and always regretted--always regretted! 'That shall be his inheritance,' he said, as the papers burned; he did not mean that it should have proved so rich a one. How rich, time will tell." "I beg your pardon a hundred thousand times, my dear sir, but it strikes me you have the impudence--in the circumstances I may call it the indecency--to appear cast down?" "It is true," said he: "I am. I am cast down. I am literally cast down. I feel myself quite helpless against your cousin." "Now, really!" I asked. "Is this serious? And is it perhaps the reason why you have gorged the poor devil with every species of insult? and why you took such surprising pains to supply me with what I had so little need of--another enemy? That you were helpless against him? 'Here is my last missile,' say you; 'my ammunition is quite exhausted: just wait till I get the last in--it will irritate, it cannot hurt him. There--you see!--he is furious now, and I am quite helpless. One more prod, another kick: now he is a mere lunatic! Stand behind me; I am quite helpless!' Mr. Romaine, I am asking myself as to the background or motive of this singular jest, and whether the name of it should not be called treachery?"