It is true that his brains and his diploma were almost all the capital the young man had to bring on his side, but these, had their acknowledged value, and, after all, Bella was very nearly of age, and it would be rather a comfort to see her safely disposed of, instead of having to give up her guardianship into her own giddy keeping.
Mr.Bellairs' office was a small wooden-frame building containing two rooms.

In the outer one half-a-dozen budding lawyers, in various stages, sat at their desks; the inner one, where the two gentlemen discussed their arrangements, was small, and contained only a stove, a writing-table, two chairs, and some cupboards.

Mr.Bellairs sat at the table with a pile of papers before him: in the second chair--an easy one--Doctor Morton lounged, and amused himself while he talked, by tracing the pattern of the empty stove with the end of a small cane.

He was a good-looking young man, with very black eyes, and a small black beard; of middle height and strongly built, and noted in Cacouna as the boldest rider, the best swimmer, and one of the best shots, in the neighbourhood.
A little stir, and a loud rough voice speaking in the outer office, was followed by the entrance of a clerk.
"Here is Clarkson, sir.

Says he must see you." A shaggy head appeared over the clerk's shoulder, and the same rough voice called out, "Just a minute, Mr.Bellairs; it's only a small matter of business." Mr.Bellairs went out, drawing the door together after him, and after a few minutes dismissed the man, and came back.
"That fellow may give you some trouble," he said as he sat down again.
"Me?
How ?" asked the Doctor, surprised.
"Some years ago, Mr.Latour bought a hundred acres of wild land on Beaver Creek.