Bergan's desk was littered with papers, but his eyes were studying only the opposite wall, half in abstraction, half in perplexity. Nor did their expression alter much when the door opened, and he rose to greet Mr. Youle, who came in slowly and feebly, leaning on a cane. He was of medium height, with gray hair, a thin face, and a kindly blue eye; and it was easy to see, was on the best of terms with his talented young partner. No room in that ripe intellect and gentle nature for so ignoble a passion as jealousy!
"There, that will do, Arling," he said, humorously, when Bergan had helped him carefully to a chair; "the old gentleman is as comfortable as he's likely to be,—or deserves to be, for that matter. Well, how goes on our case?"
Bergan shook his head, with a faint smile. "Very badly, I should say,—if anything can be said to go badly, which is so entirely in the hands of Providence. I confess that I can make nothing of it."
Mr. Youle looked grave. "I warned you in the beginning," said he, "that there was not a reasonable peg to hang a line of defence on."
"But I believe the man to be innocent," rejoined Bergan. "And," he added, smiling, "'I warned you, in the beginning,' that I should never advocate a cause which seemed to be unrighteous, nor refuse one that seemed to be just, though the one should offer me a fortune in fees, and the other not a cent."
"Yes, yes, I know," replied Mr. Youle. "And I must admit that your two rules have worked miraculously well thus far; we have lost but one case, I believe, since you came into the office. Well, well, such a vein of good luck cannot be expected to last forever,—after the nugget, the rock or the sand. But I don't see how it is that you are so strongly persuaded of Unwick's innocence."
"You would easily understand, if you had looked into his face once; it is a clean passport to confidence. Besides, there is the unvarying testimony of his past life, as set forth by everybody that knows him.—sober, honest, frank, kind, religious, everything that is desirable. A man does not become a murderer in cold blood, all at once; he has to prepare himself for it by vice, or intemperance, or a course of hard, cold, selfish living. There is always a downward slope, before the final plunge."
"Granted; but I doubt if you can make the jury see it clearly enough to ground a verdict of acquittal upon it, in the face of all that terribly strong circumstantial evidence."
Bergan mused for a little time without answering. "I cannot rid myself," he said, at length, "of a conviction that that son of the murdered man could throw some light on the subject, if he chose."
Mr. Youle stared. "I did not know that he had been suspected, for a moment," said he.