“Well, well!” he cried, shaking it off. “everything has an end. We shall see! So you will take me as I am, and make the best of me?”

“Aye! Indeed I will.” They shook hands upon it laughingly, but in deep earnestness. I can answer, for one of them, with my heart of hearts.

“You come as a godsend,” said Richard, “for I have seen nobody here yet but Vholes. Woodcourt, there is one subject I should like to mention, for once and for all, in the beginning of our treaty. You can hardly make the best of me if I don’t. You know, I dare say, that I have an attachment to my cousin Ada?”

Mr Woodcourt replied that I had hinted as much to him.

“Now pray,” returned Richard, “don’t think me a heap of selfishness. Don’t suppose that I am splitting my head and half breaking my heart over this miserable Chancery suit, for my own rights and interests alone. Ada’s are bound up with mine; they can’t be separated; Vholes works for both of us. Do think of that!”

He was so very solicitous on this head, that Mr Woodcourt gave him the strongest assurances that he did him no injustice.

“You see,” said Richard, with something pathetic in his manner of lingering on the point, though it was off-hand and unstudied, “to an upright fellow like you, bringing a friendly face like yours here, I cannot bear the thought of appearing selfish and mean. I want to see Ada righted, Woodcourt, as well as myself; I want to do my utmost to right her, as well as myself; I venture what I can scrape together to extricate her, as well as myself. Do, I beseech you, think of that!”

Afterwards, when Mr Woodcourt came to reflect on what had passed, he was so very much impressed by the strength of Richard’s anxiety on this point, that in telling me generally of his first visit to Symond’s Inn, he particularly dwelt upon it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my dear girl’s little property would be absorbed by Mr Vholes, and that Richard’s justification to himself would be sincerely this. It was just as I began to take care of Caddy, that the interview took place; and I now return to the time when Caddy had recovered, and the shade was still between me and my darling.

I proposed to Ada, that morning that we should go and see Richard. It a little surprised me to find that she hesitated, and was not so radiantly willing as I had expected.

“My dear,” said I, “you have not had any difference with Richard since I have been so much away?”

“No, Esther.”

“Not heard of him, perhaps?” said I.

“Yes, I have heard of him,” said Ada.

Such tears in her eyes, and such love in her face. I could not make my darling out. Should I go to Richard’s by myself? I said. No, Ada thought I had better not go by myself. Would she go with me? Yes, Ada thought she had better go with me. Should we go now? Yes, let us go now. Well, I could not understand my darling, with the tears in her eyes and the love in her face!

We were soon equipped, and went out. It was a sombre day, and drops of chill rain fell at intervals. It was one of those colourless days when everything looks heavy and harsh. The houses frowned at us, the dust rose at us, the smoke swooped at us, nothing made any compromise about itself, or wore a softened aspect. I fancied my beautiful girl quite out of place in the rugged streets; and I thought there were more funerals passing along the dismal pavements, than I had ever seen before.