sed. He met men whom he knew,
but he would not be tempted by them into a debauch. He went to bed
early, and, after a weary night of sleeplessness, found himself at the
Patent Office before a clerk was in his place.

When the offices were opened, he sought his man, and revealed his
business. He prepared a list of the patents in which he was interested,
and secured a search of the records of assignment. It was a long time
since the patents had been issued, and the inquisition was a tedious
one; but it resulted, to his unspeakable relief, in the official
statement that no one of them had ever been assigned. Then he brought
out his paper, and, with a blushing declaration that he had not known
the necessity of its record until the previous day, saw the assignment
placed upon the books.

Then he was suddenly at ease. Then he could look about him. A great
burden was rolled from his shoulders, and he knew that he ought to be
jolly; but somehow his spirits did not rise. As he emerged from the
Patent Office, there was the same weird light in the sky that he had
noticed the day before, on leaving his house with Talbot. The great dome
of the Capitol swelled in the air like a bubble, which seemed as if it
would burst. The broad, hot streets glimmered as if a volcano were
breeding under them. Everything looked unsubstantial. He found himself
watching for Balfour, and expecting to meet him at every corner. He was
in a new world, and had not become wonted to it--the world of conscious
crime--the world of outlawry. It had a sun of its own, fears of its own,
figures and aspects of its own. There was a new man growing up within
him, whom he wished to hide. To this man's needs his face had not yet
become hardened, his words had not yet been trained beyond the danger of
betrayal, his eyes had not adjusted their pupils for vision and
self-suppression.

He took the night train home, breakfasted at the Astor, and was the
first man to greet Mr. Cavendish when that gentleman entered his
chambers. Mr. Cavendish sat listlessly, and heard his story. The
lawyer's hands were as pale, his scalp as uneasy, and his lips as
redolent of scorn as they were two days before, while his nose bent to
sniff the scorn with more evident approval than then. He apprehended
more thoroughly the character of the man before him, saw more clearly
the nature of his business, and wondered with contemptuous incredulity
that Balfour had not been sharper and quicker.

Af