LITMIR.BIZ

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at last, though I am afraid I was longer about it than I ought to have been; and when I had cooled my eyes with lavender water, it was time to watch for London.

       I was quite persuaded that we were there when we were ten miles off, and when we really were there, that we should never get there. However, when we began to jolt upon a stone pavement, and particularly when every other conveyance seemed to be running into us, and we seemed to be running into every other conveyance, I began to believe that we really were approaching the end of our journey. Very soon afterwards we stopped.

       A young gentleman who had inked himself by accident addressed me from the pavement and said, "I am from Kenge and Carboy's, miss, of Lincoln's Inn."

       "If you please, sir," said I.

       He was very obliging, and as he handed me into a fly after superintending the removal of my boxes, I asked him whether there was a great fire anywhere? For the streets were so full of dense brown smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen.

       "Oh, dear no, miss," he said. "This is a London particular." I had never heard of such a thing.

       "A fog, miss," said the young gentleman. "Oh, indeed!" said I.

       We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that ever were seen in the world (I thought) and in such a distracting state of confusion that I wondered how the people kept their senses, until we passed into sudden quietude under an old gateway and drove on through a silent square until we came to an odd nook in a corner, where there was an entrance up a steep, broad flight of stairs, like an entrance to a church. And there really was a churchyard outside under some cloisters, for I saw the gravestones from the staircase window.

       This was Kenge and Carboy's. The young gentleman showed me through an outer office into Mr. Kenge's room--there was no one in it--and politely put an arm-chair for me by the fire. He then called my attention to a little looking-glass hanging from a nail on one side of the chimney-piece.

       "In case you should wish to look at yourself, miss, after the journey, as you're going before the Chancellor. Not that it's requisite, I

       am sure," said the young gentleman civilly.

       "Going before the Chancellor?" I said, startled for a moment.

       "Only a matter of form, miss," returned the young gentleman. "Mr. Kenge is in court now. He left his compliments, and would you partake of some refreshment"--there were biscuits and a decanter of wine on a small table--"and look over the paper," which the young gentleman gave me as he spoke. He then stirred the fire and left me.

       Everything was so strange--the stranger from its being night in the daytime, the candles burning with a white flame, and looking raw and cold--that I read the words in the newspaper without knowing what they meant and found myself reading the same words repeatedly. As it was of no use going on in that way, I put the paper down, took a peep at my bonnet in the glass to see if it was neat, and looked at the room, which was not half lighted, and at the shabby, dusty tables, and at the piles of writings, and at a bookcase

       full of the most inexpressive-looking books that ever had anything to say for themselves. Then I went on, thinking, thinking, think-

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       ing; and the fire went on, burning, burning, burning; and the candles went on flickering and guttering, and there were no snuffers--

       until the young gentleman by and by brought a very dirty pair--for two hours.

       At last Mr. Kenge came. HE was not altered, but he was surprised to see how altered I was and appeared quite pleased. "As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it well that you should be in attendance also. You will not be discomposed by the Lord Chancellor, I dare say?"

       "No, sir," I said, "I don't think I shall," really not seeing on consideration why I should be.

       So Mr. Kenge gave me his arm and we went round the corner, under a colonnade, and in at a side door. And so we came, along a passage, into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a young gentleman were standing near a great, loud-roaring fire. A screen was interposed between them and it, and they were leaning on the screen, talking.

       They both looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady, with the fire shining upon her, such a beautiful girl! With such rich

       golden hair, such soft blue eyes, and such a bright, innocent, trusting face! "Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."

       She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but seemed to change her mind in a moment and kissed me. In short, she had such a natural, captivating, winning manner that in a few minutes we were sitting in the window-seat, with the light of the fire upon us, talking together as free and happy as could be.

       What a load off my mind! It was so delightful to know that she could confide in me and like me! It was so good of her, and so

       encouraging to me!

       The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth with an ingenuous face and a most engaging laugh; and after she had called him up to where we sat, he stood by us, in the light of the fire, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, if quite so much, but nearly two years older than she was. They were both orphans and (what was very unexpected and curious to me) had never met before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it; and the fire, which had left off roaring, winked its red eyes at us--as Richard said--like a drowsy old Chancery lion.

       We conversed in a low tone because a full-dressed gentleman in a bag wig frequently came in and out, and when he did so, we could hear a drawling sound in the distance, which he said was one of the counsel in our case addressing the Lord Chancellor. He told Mr. Kenge that the Chancellor would be up in five minutes; and presently we heard a bustle and a tread of feet, and Mr. Kenge said that the Court had risen and his lordship was in the next room.

       The gentleman in the bag wig opened the door almost directly and requested Mr. Kenge to come in. Upon that, we all went into the next room, Mr. Kenge first, with my darling--it is so natural to me now that I can't help writing it; and there, plainly dressed in black and sitting in an arm-chair at a table near the fire, was his lordship, whose robe, trimmed with beautiful gold lace, was thrown upon another chair. He gave us a searching look as we entered, but his manner was both courtly and kind.

       The gentleman in the bag wig laid bundles of papers on his lordship's table, and his lordship silently selected one and turned over the leaves.

       "Miss Clare," said the Lord Chancellor. "Miss Ada Clare?"

       Mr. Kenge presented her, and his lordship begged her to sit down near him. That he admired her and was interested by her even I could see in a moment. It touched me that the home of such a beautiful young creature should be represented by that dry, official place. The Lord High Chancellor, at his best, appeared so poor a substitute for the love and pride of parents.

       "The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, still turning over leaves, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House." "Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.

       "A dreary name," said the Lord Chancellor.

       "But not a dreary place at present, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.

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       "And Bleak House," said his lordship, "is in--" "Hertfordshire, my lord."

       "Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship. "He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.

       A pause.

       "Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor, glancing towards him. Richard bowed and stepped forward.

       "Hum!" said the Lord Chancellor, turning over more leaves.

       "Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed in a low voice, "if I may venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for--"

       "For Mr. Richard Carstone?" I thought (but I am not quite sure) I heard his lordship say in an equally low voice and with a smile.

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