echoed Cashel, in bitter derision; "such friends as I have
seen around my table make the selection difficult."

"I used the phrase somewhat technically, sir, as referring to a legal
adviser," said the judge, hastily.

"I thank you, my Lord," replied Roland, haughtily. "I am a plain man,
and am well aware that in _your_ trade truth is no match for falsehood."
He walked to the window as he spoke, and by his gesture seemed to
decline further colloquy.

The Chief Justice moved slowly away, followed by the others; Meek
withdrawing last of all, and seeming to hesitate whether he should not
say something as he went. At last he turned and said,--

"I sincerely trust, Mr. Cashel, that you will not connect me with this
most painful suspicion; your own good sense will show you how common
minds may be affected by a number of concurring circumstances; and how,
in fact, truth may require the aid of ingenuity to reconcile and explain
them."

"I am not certain that I understand your meaning, sir," said Cashel,
sternly; "but when a number of 'concurring circumstances' seemed to
point out those with whom I associated as blacklegs, parasites, and
calumniators, I gave them the benefit of a doubt, and believed them
to be gentle-men; I almost expected they might return the favor when
occasion offered."

For a second or two Meek seemed as if about to reply; but he moved
noiselessly away at last and closed the door, leaving Roland alone with
his own distracted thoughts.

CHAPTER XXVIII. SCENE OF THE MURDER--THE CORONER'S VERDICT

Are there not proofs enough?
Or can the stubborn mind reject all truth
And cling to fallacy?

The Will.

What a change did Tubbermore present to its aspect of the day before!
All the emblems of joy and festivity, all the motley of pleasure, all
the gay troops of guests hastening onward in glowing eagerness and
anticipation, were gone; and in their stead a dreary and mysterious
silence brooded over the place, interrupted at intervals by the bustle
of some departure. For thus, without one word of sympathy, without even
a passing good-bye, Roland's "friends" hurried away, as if flying from
the very memories of the spot.

It was a dreary winter's day; the dark leaden clouds that flitted past,
and the long-sighing wind, seemed to add their sad influence to the
melancholy. The house itself already appeared to feel its altered
fortunes. Most of the windows were closed and shuttered