To-morrow morning Claudius would pass a bad quarter of an hour with Mr.Screw, and in the afternoon Barker would call upon him and offer such consolation as was in his power; and when he had called on Claudius, he would call on the Countess Margaret and tell her what sad sceptics these legal people were, everlastingly pestering peaceable citizens in the hope of extracting from them a few miserable dollars.

And he would tell her how sorry he was that Claudius should be annoyed, and how he, Barker, would see him through--that is, he hoped so; for, he would add, of course, such men as Mr.Screw and his own father would not make so much trouble if they did not at least think they had some cause for anxiety; and so forth, and so on.

And he would leave the Countess with a most decided impression that there was something wrong about Claudius.

Oh yes! something not _quite_ clear about his antecedents, you know.

Of course it would come right in the end--no doubt of that; oh dear, no.
It was a happy night for Mr.Barker; but Claudius slept ill.