"Which means, that you don't. I shan't cut up rough; you're not yourself, and I can make all allowances. Think over what I've said, and come and have another talk. Not to-morrow; I have to go down to St. Neots. But the day after, in the evening." "Very well. Good-night." This time they did not shake hands. Franks turned abruptly, with a wave of the arm, and walked off unsteadily, like a man in liquor. Observing this, Warburton said to himself that not improbably the artist had been trying to drown his misery, which might account for his strange delusion. Yet this explanation did not put Will's mind at ease. Gloomily he made his way homeward through the roaring night. CHAPTER 9 Ten o'clock next morning saw him alighting from the train at St. Neots. A conveyance for which he had telegraphed awaited him at the station; its driver, a young man of his own age (they had known each other from boyhood), grinned his broadest as he ran toward Will on the platform, and relieved him of his bag. "Well, Sam, how goes it? Everybody flourishing?--Drive first to Mr. Turnbull's office." Mr. Turnbull was a grey-headed man of threescore, much troubled with lumbago, which made him stoop as he walked. He had a visage of extraordinary solemnity, and seemed to regard every one, no matter how prosperous or cheerful, with anxious commiseration. At the sight of Will, he endeavoured to smile, and his handshake, though the flabbiest possible, was meant for a cordial response to the young man's heartiness. "I'm on my way to The Haws, Mr. Turnbull, and wanted to ask if you could come up and see us this evening?" "Oh, with pleasure," answered the lawyer, his tone that of one invited to a funeral. "You may count on me." "We're winding up at Sherwood's. I don't mean in bankruptcy; but that wouldn't be far off if we kept going." "Ah! I can well understand that," said Mr. Turnbull, with a gleam of satisfaction. Though a thoroughly kind man, it always brightened him to hear of misfortune, especially when he had himself foretold it; and he had always taken the darkest view of Will's prospects in Little Ailie Street. "I have a project I should like to talk over with you--" "Ah?" said the lawyer anxiously. "As it concerns my mother and Jane--" "Ah?" said Mr. Turnbull, with profound despondency. "Then we shall expect you.--Will it rain, do you think?" "I fear so. The glass is very low indeed. It wouldn't surprise me if we had rain through the whole month of August." "Good Heavens! I hope not," replied Will laughing.