Between the room of Mr. Carlyle and that of the clerks, was a small square space or hall, having ingress also from the house passage; another room opened from it, a narrow one, which was Mr. Dill’s own peculiar sanctum.  Here he saw clients when Mr. Carlyle was out or engaged, and here he issued private orders.  A little window, not larger than a pane of glass, looked out from the clerk’s office; they called it old Dill’s peep-hole and wished it anywhere else, for his spectacles might be discerned at it more frequently than was agreeable.  The old gentleman had a desk, also, in their office, and there he frequently sat.  He was sitting there, in state, this same morning, keeping a sharp lookout around him, when the door timidly opened, and the pretty face of Barbara Hare appeared at it, rosy with blushes.

“Can I see Mr. Carlyle?”

Mr. Dill rose from his seat and shook hands with her.  She drew him into the passage and he closed the door.  Perhaps he felt surprised, for it was not the custom for ladies, young and single, to come there after Mr. Carlyle.

“Presently, Miss Barbara.  He is engaged just now.  The justices are with him.”

“The justices!” uttered Barbara, in alarm; “and papa one?  Whatever shall I do?  He must not see me.  I would not have him see me here for the world.”

An ominous sound of talking; the justices were evidently coming forth.  Mr. Dill laid hold of Barbara, whisked her through the clerks’ room, not daring to take her the other way, lest he should encounter them, and shut her in his own.  “What the plague brought papa here at this moment?” thought Barbara, whose face was crimson.

A few minutes and Mr. Dill opened the door again.  “They are gone now, and the coast’s clear, Miss Barbara.”

“I don’t know what opinion you must form of me, Mr. Dill,” she whispered, “but I will tell you, in confidence, that I am here on some private business for mamma, who was not well enough to come herself.  It is a little private matter that she does not wish papa to know of.”

“Child,” answered the manager, “a lawyer receives visits from many people; and it is not the place of those about him to ‘think.’”

He opened the door as he spoke, ushered her into the presence of Mr. Carlyle, and left her.  The latter rose in astonishment.

“You must regard me as a client, and pardon my intrusion,” said Barbara, with a forced laugh, to hide her agitation.  “I am here on the part of mamma—­and I nearly met papa in your passage, which terrified me out of my senses.  Mr. Dill shut me into his room.”

Mr. Carlyle motioned to Barbara to seat herself, then resumed his own seat, beside his table.  Barbara could not help noticing how different his manners were in his office from his evening manners when he was “off duty.”  Here he was the staid, calm man of business.

“I have a strange thing to tell you,” she began, in a whisper, “but—­it is impossible that any one can hear us,” she broke off, with a look of dread.  “It would be—­it might be—­death!”