way
into Chancery-lane, don't they?--that lane which, for some unhappy
travellers, has no turning except the one dismal _via_ which leads to
dusty death. You seem in very good spirits; and I suppose I ought to be
elated too. Three thousand pounds would give me a start in life, and
enable me to set up in the new character of a respectable rate-paying
citizen. But I've a kind of presentiment that this hand of mine will
never touch the prize of the victor; or, in plainer English, that no
good will ever arise to me or mine out of the reverend intestate's
hundred thousand pounds."

"Why, what a dismal-minded croaker you are this morning!" exclaimed
George Sheldon with unmitigated disgust; "a regular raven, by Jove! You
come to a fellow's office just as matters are beginning to look like
success--after ten years' plodding and ten years' disappointment--and
you treat him to maudlin howls about the Court of Chancery. This is a
new line you've struck out, Hawkehurst, and I can tell you it isn't a
pleasant one."

"Well, no, I suppose I oughtn't to say that sort of thing," answered
Valentine in an apologetic tone; "but there are some days in a man's
life when there seems to be a black cloud between him and everything he
looks at. I feel like that today. There's a tightening sensation about
something under my waistcoat--my heart, perhaps--a sense of depression
that may be either physical or mental, that I can't get rid of. If a
man had walked by my side from Chelsea to Holborn whispering
forebodings of evil into my ear at every step, I couldn't have felt
more downhearted than I do."

"What did you eat for breakfast?" asked Mr. Sheldon impatiently. "A
tough beefsteak fried by a lodging-house cook, I daresay--they _will_
fry their steaks. Don't inflict the consequences of your indigestible
diet upon me. To tell me that there's a black cloud between you and
everything you look at, is only a sentimental way of telling me that
you're bilious. Pray be practical, and let us look at things from a
business point of view. Here is Appendix A.--a copy of the registry of
the marriage of Matthew Haygarth, bachelor, of Clerkenwell, in the
county of Middlesex, to Mary Murchison, spinster, of Southwark, in the
county of Surrey. And here is Appendix B.--a copy of the registry of
the marriage between William Meynell, bachelor, of Smithfield, in the
county of Middlesex, to Caroline Mary Haygarth, spinster, of Highgate,
in the same county."

"Yo