CHAPTER 27.
Mr Haredale stood in the widow's parlour with the door-key in his hand, gazing by turns at Mr Chester and at Gabriel Varden, and occasionally glancing downward at the key as in the hope that of its own accord it would unlock the mystery; until Mr Chester, putting on his hat and gloves, and sweetly inquiring whether they were walking in the same direction, recalled him to himself.
'No,' he said.

'Our roads diverge--widely, as you know.

For the present, I shall remain here.' 'You will be hipped, Haredale; you will be miserable, melancholy, utterly wretched,' returned the other.

'It's a place of the very last description for a man of your temper.

I know it will make you very miserable.' 'Let it,' said Mr Haredale, sitting down; 'and thrive upon the thought.
Good night!' Feigning to be wholly unconscious of the abrupt wave of the hand which rendered this farewell tantamount to a dismissal, Mr Chester retorted with a bland and heartfelt benediction, and inquired of Gabriel in what direction HE was going.
'Yours, sir, would be too much honour for the like of me,' replied the locksmith, hesitating.
'I wish you to remain here a little while, Varden,' said Mr Haredale, without looking towards them.