And the head of the lawyer fell upon his arm, his bosom shaken with sobs.
Roundjacket looked at him no longer with so much surprise—he had understood all.
"Yes, yes, sir—I had forgotten," he muttered, "this is the 13th of
October."
Mr. Rushton groaned.
Roundjacket was silent for a moment, looking at his friend with deep sympathy.
"I don't wonder now at your feelings, sir," he said, "and I am sorry I intruded on—"
"No, no—you are a good friend," murmured the lawyer, growing calmer, "you will understand my feelings, and not think them strange. I am nearly over it now; it must come—oh! I am very wretched! Oh! Anne! my child, my child!"
And allowing his head to fall again, the rough, boorish man cried like a child, spite of the most violent efforts to regain his composure and master his emotion.
"Go," he said, in a low, broken voice, making a movement with his hand, "I was wrong—I cannot see any one to-day—I must be alone."
Roundjacket hesitated; moved dubiously from, then toward the lawyer; finally he seemed to have made up his mind, and going out he closed the door slowly behind him. As he did so, the key turned in the lock, and a stifled moan died away in the inner chamber.