Mrs. Gray found more difficulty in performing her benevolent intentions with regard to the Warrens, than she had ever before encountered. Ignorant as a child of all legal proceedings, she found no aid either in the old prisoner, his wife, or his grandchild, who were more uninformed and far less hopeful than herself. Her brother Jacob, on whom she had depended for aid and counsel, much to her surprise, not only refused to take any responsibility in her kind efforts, but looked coldly upon the whole affair.

It was not in Jacob Strong's nature to shrink from a kind action; for his rude exterior covered a heart true and warm as ever beat. But the part he had already taken in those events that led to William Leicester's death; the almost insane fear that haunted his mistress, lest the murderer should escape punishment; the taunts that had wrung his strong heart to the core, but which she had so ruthlessly heaped upon him—all these things conspired in rendering him more than indifferent to the fate of a man whom he had never seen, and whom he wished to find guilty. He received his good sister's entreaties for counsel, therefore, with reproof, and a stern admonition not to meddle with affairs beyond her knowledge.

Thus thrown upon her own resources, the good woman, by no means daunted, resolved to conduct the affair after her own fashion. Robert, it is true, had volunteered to aid her, and had already applied to an eminent lawyer to conduct old Mr. Warren's defence; but the retainer demanded, and the large sum of money expected, when laid before the good huckster woman, quite horrified her. The amount seemed enormous to one who had gathered up a fortune in pennies and shillings. She had heard of the extortions of legal gentlemen, of their rapacity and heartlessness, and resolved to convince them that one woman, at least, had her wisdom teeth in excellent condition.

So Mrs. Gray quietly refused all aid from Robert, and went into the legal market as she would have boarded a North River craft laden with poultry and vegetables. Many a grave lawyer did she astonish by her shrewd efforts to strike a bargain for the amount of eloquence necessary to save her old friend. Again and again did her double chin quiver with indignation at the hard-heartedness and rapacity of the profession.

Thus time wore on; the day of trial approached, and, with all her good intentions, Mrs. Gray had only done a great deal of talking, which by no means promised to regenerate the legal profession, and the prisoner was still without better counsel than herself.

One day the good huckster woman was passing down the steps of the City Prison—for she invariably accompanied Mrs. Warren to her husband's cell every morning, though it interfered greatly with her harvest hour in the market—she was slowly descending the prison steps, as I have said, when a man whom she had passed, leaning heavily against one of the pillars in the vestibule, followed and addressed her.

On hearing her name pronounced, Mrs. Gray turned and encountered a man, perhaps thirty-five or forty years of age, with handsome but unhealthy features, and eyes black and keen, that seemed capable of reading your soul at a glance, but too weary with study or dissipation for the effort.

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger, lifting his hat with a degree of graceful deference that quite charmed the old lady. "I believe you are Mrs. Gray, the benevolent friend of that poor man lodged up yonder on a charge of murder. My young man informed me that a lady—it must have been you, none other could have so beautifully answered the description—had called at my office in search of counsel. I regretted so much not being in. This is a peculiar case, madam, one that enlists all the sympathies. You look surprised. I know that feeling is not usual in our profession, but there are hearts, madam—hearts so tender originally, that they resist the hard grindstone of the law. It is this that has kept me poor, when my brother lawyers are all growing rich around me."

"Sir," answered Mrs. Gray—her face all in a glow of delight—reaching forth her plump hand, with which she shook that of her new acquaintance, which certainly trembled in her grasp, but from other causes than the sympathy for which she gave him credit, "Sir, I am happy to see you—very happy to find one lawyer that has a heart. I don't remember calling at your office without finding you in, though I certainly have found a good many other lawyers out."

Here the blessed old lady gave a mellow chuckle over what she considered a marvellous play upon words, which was echoed by the lawyer, who held one hand to his side, as if absolutely compelled thus to restrain the mirth excited by her facetiousness.

"And now, my dear lady, let us to business. The most exquisite wit, you know must give place to the calls of humanity. My young man informed me of your noble intentions with regard to this unhappy prisoner. That out of your wealth so honorably won, you were determined to wrest justice from the law. I am here with my legal armor on, ready to aid in the good cause. If I were rich now—if I had not exhausted my life in attempting to aid humanity, nothing would give me so much pleasure as to go hand-in-hand with you to his rescue, without money and without price; as it is, my dear madam—as it is, 'the laborer is worthy of his hire.'"

This quotation quite won the already vacillating heart of poor Mrs. Gray. She shook the lawyer's thin hand again, with increased cordiality, and answered—

"True enough—true enough, my dear sir. I declare it is refreshing to hear Bible words in the mouth of a lawyer. It's what I didn't expect."

"Ah, madam," cried the lawyer, drawing a white handkerchief from a side pocket, and returning it as if he had determined to suppress his emotions at any cost—"ah, madam, do not apply a general rule too closely. Our profession is bad enough, I do not defend it. What man with a conscience void of offence, could make the attempt? But there exist exceptions—honorable exceptions. Permit me to hope that your clear mind can distinguish between the sharper and the man who sacrifices the world's goods for conscience's sake. Believe me, dear lady, there are such things as honest lawyers, as pious men in the profession."

"Well, I must say the idea never struck me before," answered Mrs. Gray, with honest simplicity.

"Permit me to hope, that from this hour you will no longer doubt it," answered the lawyer, gently passing one hand over the place which anatomists allot to the human heart. "And now, madam, suppose we walk to my office and settle the preliminaries of our engagement. A cool head and warm heart, that is what you want; fortunately such things may be found. Pray allow me to help you; the steps are a little damp, accidents frequently happen up this avenue; my office is close at hand; many a poor unfortunate has learned to bless the way there—take my arm!"

Mrs. Gray hesitated; a blush swept over her comely cheek at the thought of walking arm-in-arm with so perfect a gentleman, and that in the open streets of New York. It was a thing she had not dreamed of since the death of poor Mr. Gray. But there was a leaven of feminine vanity still left in the good woman's nature. The shrewd swindler, who stood there so gracefully presenting his arm, had not altogether miscalculated the effect of his flattery, and he clenched it adroitly, with this act of personal attention.

Mrs. Gray hesitated, blushed, drew on her glove a little tighter, and then placed her substantial arm through the comparatively fragile limb of the lawyer, softly, as if she quite appreciated the danger of bearing him down with her weight. Thus the blessed old woman was borne along, sweeping half the pavement with her massive person, and crowding the poor lawyer unconsciously out to the curb-stone every other minute.

He, exemplary man, bore it all with gentle complacency, cautioned her against every little impediment that came in her way, and consoled himself for the somewhat remarkable figure he made in the eyes of the police-officers that haunt that neighborhood, by a significant twirl of his disengaged hand in the direction of his own face, and a quick drooping of the left eyelid, by which they all understood that the Tombs lawyer had brought down his game handsomely that morning.

Mrs. Gray was certainly somewhat disappointed in the style of the lawyer's office into which she was ushered with so much ceremony. A rusty old leathern chair; a table with the green baize half worn off, with a bundle or two of dusty papers upon it; a standish full of dry ink, and a steel pen rusted down to the nib, all veiled thickly with dust, did not entirely meet her ideas of the prosperous business she had anticipated. The lawyer saw this, and hastened to sweep away all unfavorable impressions from her mind.

"This is my work-shop, you see, madam, the tread-mill in which I grind out my humble bread and my blessed charities—no foppery, no carpets, nothing but the barest necessaries of the profession. I leave easy-chairs, &c., for those who have the conscience to wring them from needy clients. You comprehend, dear lady. Oh! it is pleasant to feel that now and then in this cold world, a good life meets with appreciation. John, bring me another chair?"

"My young man," whom the lawyer had mentioned so ostentatiously, came forward in the shape of a lank Irish lad, taller than his master by three inches, which might be accurately measured by the space visible between the knee of his nether garments and the top of his gaiter boots. The closet door, from which he issued, revealed a lurking encampment of dusty bottles, a broken washstand, and two enormous demijohns, the wickerwork suspiciously moist, and with a stopper of blue glass chained to the neck.

The lawyer made a quiet motion with his hand, which sent the Irish boy in haste to close the door. Then taking the unstable chair which the lad had disinterred from the closet, he sat down cautiously, as a cat steals to the lap of her mistress, whose temper is somewhat doubtful, and glided into the business on hand. The Irish boy stood meekly by, profiting by the scene with a knowing look, which deepened into a grin of delight as he saw Mrs. Gray draw forth her pocket-book, and place bank-notes of considerable amount into the lawyer's hand. When the good woman had thus deposited half the sum which the lawyer assured her would save old Mr. Warren's life, she arose with a sigh of profound satisfaction, shook out her voluminous skirts, and left the office, fully satisfied with the whole transaction.

The lawyer and "his man" followed her to the door. When she disappeared down the street, the lawyer turned briskly, and in the joy of his heart seized the Irish boy by the collar that had lately graced his own neck, and gave him a vigorous shake.

"What are you grinning at, you dog? How dare you laugh at my clients? There now, get along; take that and fill both the demijohns; buy a clean pack of cards, and a new supply of everything. Do you hear?"

The Irish boy shook himself back into his coat, and seizing the money, plunged into the street, resolved not to return a shilling of change without first securing the month's wages, for which his master was, as usual, in arrears.

The lawyer threw himself into the leathern chair which Mrs. Gray had just left, stretched forth his limbs, half closed his eyes, and rubbing his palms softly together, sat thus full ten minutes caressing himself, and chuckling over the morning's business.