Monckton was struck with lawyer Middleton's manner, and went away
puzzling over it.
"What's _his_ little game, I wonder?" said he.
The lawyer went post-haste to his client's house. He found her in tears.
She handed him an open letter.
Braham was utterly ruined, and besides that had done something or other
he did not care to name; he was off to America, leaving her what money
she could find in the house and the furniture, which he advised her to
sell at once before others claimed it; in short, the man was wild with
fear, and at present thought but little of anybody but himself.
Then the lawyer set himself to comfort her as well as he could, and
renewed his request that she would give Monckton a meeting.
"Yes," said she, wearily--"it is no use trying to resist _him_; he can
come here."
The lawyer demurred to that. "No," said he, "keep your own counsel, don't
let him know you are deserted and ruined; make a favor of coming, but
_come_: and a word in your ear--he can do more for you than Braham can,
or will ever do again.
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