u foresee, of course, that those works of symbolical art were consumed
with a liberal expenditure of dry gorse-bushes and vague shouting.

After these great public exertions, it was natural that Mr. Dempster and
his colleagues should feel more in need than usual of a little social
relaxation; and a party of their friends was already beginning to
assemble in the large parlour of the Red Lion, convened partly by their
own curiosity, and partly by the invaluable Mat Paine. The most capacious
punch-bowl was put in requisition; and that born gentleman, Mr. Lowme,
seated opposite Mr. Dempster as 'Vice', undertook to brew the punch,
defying the criticisms of the envious men out of office, who with the
readiness of irresponsibility, ignorantly suggested more lemons. The
social festivities were continued till long past midnight, when several
friends of sound religion were conveyed home with some difficulty, one of
them showing a dogged determination to seat himself in the gutter.

Mr. Dempster had done as much justice to the punch as any of the party;
and his friend Boots, though aware that the lawyer could 'carry his
liquor like Old Nick'. with whose social demeanour Boots seemed to be
particularly well acquainted, nevertheless thought it might be as well to
see so good a customer in safety to his own door, and walked quietly
behind his elbow out of the inn-yard. Dempster, however, soon became
aware of him, stopped short, and, turning slowly round upon him,
recognized the well-known drab waistcoat sleeves, conspicuous enough in
the starlight.

'You twopenny scoundrel! What do you mean by dogging a professional man's
footsteps in this way? I'll break every bone in your skin if you attempt
to track me, like a beastly cur sniffing at one's pocket. Do you think a
gentleman will make his way home any the better for having the scent of
your blacking-bottle thrust up his nostrils?'

Boots slunk back, in more amusement than ill-humour, thinking the
lawyer's 'rum talk' was doubtless part and parcel of his professional
ability; and Mr. Dempster pursued his slow way alone.

His house lay in Orchard Street, which opened on the prettiest outskirt
of the town--the church, the parsonage, and a long stretch of green
fields. It was an old-fashioned house, with an overhanging upper storey;
outside, it had a face of rough stucco, and casement windows with green
frames and shutters; inside, it was full of long passages, and rooms with
low ceil