'No, darling; no, my love—I can't, indeed. I'll be back immediately; but I must catch Mr. Larkin before he goes out. It is only a little matter—I want to ask his opinion—and—oh! here is my stick—and I'll return immediately.'
'And I'll go with you,' cried little Fairy.
'No, no, little man; I can't take you—no, it is business—stay with mamma, and I'll be back again in a few minutes.'
So, spite of Fairy's clamours and the remonstrances of his fond, clinging little wife, with a hurried kiss or two, away he went alone, at a very quick pace, through the high street of Gylingden, and was soon in the audience chamber of the serious, gentleman attorney.
The attorney rose with a gaunt and sad smile of welcome—begged Mr. Wylder, with a wave of his long hand, to be seated—and then seating himself and crossing one long thigh over the other, he threw his arm over the back of his chair, and leaning back with what he conceived to be a graceful and gentlemanly negligence—with his visitor full in the light of the window and his own countenance in shadow, the light coming from behind—a diplomatic arrangement which he affected—he fixed his small, pink eyes observantly upon him, and asked if he could do anything for Mr. William Wylder.
'Have you heard anything since, Mr. Larkin? Can you conjecture where his address may now be?' asked the vicar, a little abruptly.
'Oh! Mr. Mark Wylder, perhaps, you refer to?'
'Yes; my brother, Mark.'
Mr. Larkin smiled a sad and simple smile, and shook his head.
'No, indeed—not a word—it is very sad, and involves quite a world of trouble—and utterly inexplicable; for I need not tell you, in my position, it can't be pleasant to be denied all access to the client who has appointed me to act for him, nor conducive to the apprehension of his wishes upon many points, which I should much prefer not being left to my discretion. It is really, as I say, inexplicable, for Mr. Mark Wylder must thoroughly see all this: he is endowed with eminent talents for business, and must perfectly appreciate the embarrassment in which the mystery with which he surrounds the place of his abode must involve those whom he has appointed to conduct his business.'