The result was, that Varbarriere's advice prevailed, as one might easily foresee, having a patient so utterly incompetent to advise himself.
The attorney, having shaken hands with Monsieur Varbarriere, and watched from the platform the gradual disappearance of the train that carried him from the purlieus of Slowton, with an expression of face plaintive as that with which Dido on the wild sea banks beheld the receding galleys of Æneas, loitered back again dolorously to the hostelry.
He arrived at the door exactly in time to witness the descent of Guy Deverell from his chaise. I think he would have preferred not meeting him, it would have saved him a few boring questions; but it was by no means a case for concealing himself. He therefore met him with a melancholy frankness on the steps.
The young man recognised him.
"Mr. Rumsey?—How do you do? Is my uncle here?"
"He left by the last train. I hope I see you well, sir."
"Gone? and where to?"
"He did not tell me." That was true, but the attorney had seen his valise labelled "Chester" by his direction. "He went by the London train, but he said he would be back to-morrow. Can I do anything? Your arrival was not expected."
"Thank you. I think not. It was just a word with my uncle I wished. You say he will be here again in the morning?"
"Yes, so he said. I'm waiting to see him."