“True enough,” said the Judge. “Now go and get a lunch, for you must be tired enough, with all these papers. By the time you get back, I think, the rest will be here.”
Barnaby was glad enough to get a bit of sunlight and a breath of fresh air, not to speak of coffee and oysters, although the latter were by no means unwelcome.
When he returned to the law-office, however, he passed through the outer rooms, to Judge Danvers’s own private door, with a heart which beat more and more briskly at every step.
He put his hand upon the latch, but the door seemed almost to swing open of itself, and then, as he entered, a tall figure sprang from an opposite chair and a well-known voice exclaimed:
“Bar Vernon! You here?”
“Mr. Brayton? You?” returned the no less astonished Barnaby; but still another gentleman was on his feet, and the voice of Judge Danvers broke in with:
“Mr. Ashbel Norton, let me make you acquainted with your nephew, Barnaby Vernon; Bar, my boy, this is your uncle, your mother’s brother, of whom I told you.”
Barnaby and Mr. Norton were now standing, their hands tightly grasped, gazing in each other’s faces, and the latter said, in a steady, deliberate voice:
“Judge Danvers, there isn’t the shadow of a doubt. He’s the very image of his father. Every member of the Norton family will swear to him on sight. He hardly needs the papers.”
“But he has them!” exclaimed the Judge. “It was from his own hands that I received them, when he engaged me as his counsel. Your brother Robert has also repeatedly acknowledged him as his nephew, Barnaby Vernon.”