, than the darkness of the darkest night. And
through Richard's farewell words I heard it echoed:
    »Of all my old associations, of all my old pursuits and hopes, of all the
living and the dead world, this one poor soul alone comes natural to me, and I
am fit for. There is a tie of many suffering years between us two, and it is the
only tie I ever had on earth that Chancery has not broken!«
 

                                  Chapter XXV

                            Mrs. Snagsby Sees It All

There is disquietude in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. Black suspicion hides in
that peaceful region. The mass of Cook's-Courtiers are in their usual state of
mind, no better and no worse; but, Mr. Snagsby is changed, and his little woman
knows it.
    For, Tom-all-Alone's and Lincoln's Inn Fields persist in harnessing
themselves, a pair of ungovernable coursers, to the chariot of Mr. Snagsby's
imagination; and Mr. Bucket drives; and the passengers are Jo and Mr.
Tulkinghorn; and the complete equipage whirls through the Law Stationery
business at wild speed, all round the clock. Even in the little front kitchen
where the family meals are taken, it rattles away at a smoking pace from the
dinner-table, when Mr. Snagsby pauses in carving the first slice of the leg of
mutton baked with potatoes, and stares at the kitchen wall.
    Mr. Snagsby cannot make out what it is that he has had to do with. Something
is wrong, somewhere; but what something, what may come of it, to whom, when, and
from which unthought-of and unheard-of quarter, is the puzzle of his life. His
remote impressions of the robes and coronets, the stars and garters, that
sparkle through the surface-dust of Mr. Tulkinghorn's chambers; his veneration
for the mysteries presided over by that best and closest of his customers, whom
all the Inns of Court, all Chancery Lane, and all the legal neighbourhood agree
to hold in awe; his remembrance of Detective Mr. Bucket with his forefinger, and
his confidential manner impossible to be evaded or declined; persuade him that
he is a party to some dangerous secret, without knowing what it is. And it is
the fearful peculiarity of this condition that, at any hour of his daily life,
at any opening of the shop-door, at any pull of the bell, at any entrance of a
messenger, or any delivery of a letter, the secret may take air and fire
