He had lost no time in fulfilling Mrs. Pendarrel's behest, and found little difficulty in tracing _Morton_ to the pleader's chambers. He had not obtained an opportunity of seeing him, but felt certain that the student was no other than Trevethlan. He recollected that Everope had some connection with the law, and might be of service in the schemes which fluctuated indistinctly in his mind. He sought the gambler at the Argyll Rooms. And he was not disappointed. He saw the wretched man's last guinea swept away by the ruthless rake, and met him as he rose from the table, pale and desperate. "Fortune's a jade, sir," Sinson said, "come and drink a glass of champagne." Everope, scarcely knowing what he did, accepted the invitation, and quaffed glass after glass of the fluid which promised him a temporary oblivion of his plight. He undoubtedly achieved this object, and was unable to resist when his entertainer undertook to see him home. He was, however, sensible enough to be surprised when Sinson followed him into his chambers. "You are a cool fellow," he stammered. "This is not exactly a palace. I'll get a light, that is if there's a match, and then you can spy the nakedness of the land. Hang me, if you don't look like a spy." Michael answered by producing a flask. The spendthrift's eyes glistened, and with some trouble he discovered a couple of glasses. "It is reversing the order of things," he muttered, "reversing the order of things. But no matter. Sufficient for the day--" As they continued to converse, Everope's contempt for his companion, slid gradually into familiarity. At length the latter, after glancing round the room, exclaimed:-- "Egad! Everope, I guess you're not in arrears for rent?" "Why so, sir?" asked the spendthrift, with a return of his distant manner. "Why, there's nothing to levy." Everope laughed, and dismal it was to hear. "Clients are few," suggested Sinson, ignorantly. No answer. "Family unfriendly," continued the intruder. "Family!" shouted Everope, springing to his feet with an oath, "what d'ye mean, sir?" He clenched his fist, but it fell to his side. "Ha!" said he, "I am feeble-- 'Some undone widow sits upon my arm, And takes away the use o't; and my sword, Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears, Will not be drawn.' Kean, sir, Kean----" He sank into his chair, and burst into tears. This paroxysm restored him to some degree of recollection. When it passed away, Sinson drew his chair near him, and laid his hand on his arm. The spendthrift shrank from the touch. Michael quietly took out his purse, and allowed some pieces of gold to roll on the table. "Mr. Everope," said he, in the oiliest tones possible, "I ask your pardon for my impertinent intrusion. It was meant all in good will. I was sorry to see the scurvy tricks fortune played you to-night. I came to ask if this petty sum would be any accommodation."