led on by the meanest advocates.
A gentleman or two, to take service with us, will at once repulse this
tactic; and until we can hit upon these, we shall make no progress."

I have been obliged to dwell even to tediousness on these traits of the
Grinder; for if they be not borne in mind, his actions and motives will
seem destitute of any satisfactory explanation. And I now return to
the chamber where he sat with Crowther as they compared impressions
together, and bartered suspicions about my father's marriage.

"Now that I begin to consider the matter in this light," said Crowther,
"it is curious what an explanation it affords to many things that used
to puzzle me formerly: all that coldness and reserve towards Carew that
his neighbors showed; the way his former acquaintances fell off from
him, one by one; and, lastly, those strange hints about him in the
newspapers. I suppose we should see the meaning of every one of them now
easily enough?"

Fagan made no reply; his mind was travelling along over the road it had
entered upon, and would not be turned away by any call whatsoever.

"Yes," muttered he to himself, "the little cottage at Fallrach, in the
Killeries,--that's the place! and the only thing now is to get him down
there. I must go up and see how he gets on, Crowther. I 'm half afraid
that he ought to see a surgeon." And, so saying, he arose and left the
room.

My father was still sleeping as he entered, but less tranquilly than
before, with a feverish flush upon his face, and his lips dry and
dark-colored.

With a noiseless hand, Fagan drew back the curtain, and, seating himself
close to the bed, bent down to gaze on him. The uneasy motions of the
sleeper denoted pain; and more than once his hand was pressed against
his side, as if it was the seat of some suffering. Fagan watched every
gesture eagerly, and tried, but in vain, to collect some meaning from
the low and broken utterance. Rapidly speaking at intervals, and at
times moaning painfully, he appeared to labor either under some mental
or bodily agony, in a paroxysm of which, at last, he burst open his
vest, and clutched his embroidered shirt-frill with a violence that tore
it in fragments.

As he did so, Fagan caught sight of a handkerchief stained with blood,
which, with cautious gesture, he slowly removed, and, walking to
the window, examined it carefully. This done, he folded it up, and,
enveloping it in his own, placed it in his pocket. Once mo