aw her disappear--the kind, tender eyes fixed on him to the last. He
sighed again, as she passed from his sight; and so left the garden.
Mr. Jinks was swaggering amiably toward town--Cloud was standing, like
a statue, where his master had left him. Verty, leaning one arm on the
saddle, murmured:

"Really, Redbud is getting prettier than ever, and I wonder if I am
what Mr. Roundjacket calls 'in love' with her?"

Finding himself unable to answer this question, Verty shook his head
wisely, got into the saddle, and set forward toward the town, Longears
following duly in his wake.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE THIRTEENTH OF OCTOBER.

Just as the boy left the surburban residence of Miss Redbud, Mr.
Roundjacket, who had been writing at his old dusty desk for an hour,
raised his head, hearing a knock at the door.

He thrust the pen he had been using behind his ear, and bade the
intruder "come in!"

One of the clients of Mr. Rushton made his appearance, and inquired
for that gentleman. Mr. Roundjacket said that Mr. Rushton was
"within," and rose to go and summon him, the visitor meanwhile having
seated himself.

Mr. Roundjacket tapped at the door of Mr. Rushton's sanctum, but
received no answer. He tapped louder--no reply. Somewhat irate at
this, he kicked the door, and at the same moment opened it, preparing
himself for the encounter.

An unusual sight awaited him.

Seated at his old circular table, covered with papers and books, Mr.
Rushton seemed perfectly ignorant of his presence, as he had not heard
the noise of the kick. His head resting upon his hand, the forehead
drooping, the eyes half closed, the bosom shaken by piteous sighs,
and the whole person full of languor and grief, no one would have
recognized the rough, bearish Lawyer Rushton, or believed that there
could be anything in common between him and the individual sitting at
the table, so bowed down with sorrow.

Before him lay a little book, which he looked at through a mist of
tears.

Roundjacket touched him on the shoulder, with a glance of wonder, and
said:--

"You are sick, sir!--Mr. Rushton, sir!--there is somebody to see you."

In truth, the honest fellow could scarcely stammer out these broken
words; and when Mr. Rushton, slowly returning to a consciousness of
his whereabouts, raised his sorrowful eyes, Roundjacket looked at him
with profound commiseration and sympathy.

"You have forgotten," said Mr. Rushton, in a low, broken voice, his
p