122
WYLDER'S HAJVD.
1
would have murdered that week, if he could, in the midst
of its loitering sunshine and gaiety.
There was a strange pain at his heart, and the pain of
intense and fruitless calculation in his brain; and, as the
Mahometan prays towards Mecca, and the Jew towards
Jerusalem, so Captain Lake's morning orisons, whatsoever
they were, were offered at the window of his bed-room
toward London, from whence he looked for his salvation,
or it might be the other thing — with a dreadful yearn-
ing.
When Lake had ended his toilet and stared in the glass,
he still looked so haggard, that on greeting Mr. Larkin
in the parlor, he thought it necessary to mention that
he had taken cold in that confounded billiard-room last
night, which spoiled his sleep, and made him awfully seedy
that morning. Of course, his host was properly afflicted
and sympathetic.
"By-the-bye, I had a letter this morning from that
party — our common friend, Mr. W., you know," said Lar-
kin, gracefully.
"Well, what is he doing, and when does he come back?
You mean Wylder, of course?"
"Yes; my good client, Mr. Mark Wylder. Permit me
to assist you to some honey, you'll find it remarkably good,
I venture to say; it comes from the gardens of Queen's
Audley."
"Thank you — delicious, I'm sure. May I see Wyl-
der's note — that is, if there's no private business?"
"Oh, certainly."
And, with Wylder's great red seal on the back of the
envelope, the letter ran thus : —
"Dear Larkin,— I write in haste to save post, to say
I shall be detained in town a few days longer than I thought.