“No, my lord, but this hotel is such a Noah’s
ark, that it’s no wonder I thought of it.”
“You’re an undutiful dog, not to ask after
your mother, sir.”
“I was about—”
“I see—I see,” interrupted
his lordship; “but recollect, John, that she
still is your mother. By-the-by, have you
read the papers yet?”
“No, sir,” replied I, “there they
are,” pointing to them on the side table.
“I really do not like to break the seals.”
“That they will not contain pleasant intelligence,
I admit,” replied his lordship; “but until
you have read them, I do not wish to converse with
you on the subject, therefore,” said he, taking
up the packet, and breaking the seals, “I must
now insist that you employ this forenoon in reading
them through. You will dine with me at seven,
and then we will talk the matter over.”
“Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will read
them.”
“I must insist upon it, John; and am
rather surprised at your objecting, when they concern
you so particularly.”
“I shall obey your orders, sir.”
“Well, then, my boy, I shall wish you good morning,
that you may complete your task before you come to
dinner. To-morrow, if you wish it—but
recollect, I never press young men on these points,
as I am aware that they sometimes feel it a restraint—if
you wish it, I say, you may bring your portmanteaus,
and take up your quarters with me. By-the-bye,”
continued his lordship, taking hold of my coat, “who
made this?”
“The tailor to his Serene Highness the Prince
of Darmsradt had that honour, my lord,” replied
I.
“Humph! I thought they fitted better in
Germany; it’s not quite the thing—we
must consult Stulz, for with that figure and face,
the coat ought to be quite correct. Adieu, my
dear fellow, till seven.”
His lordship shook hands with me, and I was left alone.
Timothy came in as soon as his lordship’s carriage
had driven off. “Well, sir,” said
he, “was your uncle glad to see you?”
“Yes,” replied I; “and look, he
has broken open the seals, and has insisted upon my
reading the papers.”
“It would be very undutiful in you to refuse,
so I had better leave you to your task,” said
Timothy, smiling, as he quitted the room.
I open an account with
my bankers, draw largely upon credulity, and
am prosperous without
a check.
I sat down and took up the papers. I was immediately
and strangely interested in all that I read.
A secret!—it was, indeed, a secret, involving
the honour and reputation of the most distinguished
families. One that, if known, the trumpet of
scandal would have blazoned forth to the disgrace
of the aristocracy. It would have occasioned bitter
tears to some, gratified the petty malice of many,
satisfied the revenge of the vindictive, and bowed
with shame the innocent as well as the guilty.
It is not necessary, nor, indeed, would I, on any account,
state any more. I finished the last paper, and
then fell into a reverie. This is, indeed, a
secret, thought I; one that I would I never had possessed.
In a despotic country my life would be sacrificed
to the fatal knowledge—here, thank God,
my life as well as my liberty are safe.
