“Oh, yes! What is the amount? Let
me at least repay that debt.”
“Not yet. The lady can wait; and she would
be pleased to wait, because she deserves to wait:
it would be unkind to her to pay it off at once.
But in the meanwhile if you could send me a few good
books for Sophy,— instructive, yet not
very, very dry,-and a French dictionary, I can teach
her French when the winter days close in. You
see I am not above being paid, sir. But, Mr.
Morley, there is a great favour you can do me.”
“What is it? Speak.”
“Cautiously refrain from doing me a great disservice!
You are going back to your friends and relations.
Never speak of me to them. Never describe me
and my odd ways. Name not the lady, nor—nor—nor—the
man who claimed Sophy.
“Your friends might not hurt me; others might.
Talk travels. The hare is not long in its form
when it has a friend in a hound that gives tongue.
Promise what I ask. Promise it as ‘man
and gentleman.’”
“Certainly. Yet I have one relation to
whom I should like, with your permission, to speak
of you, with whom I could wish you acquainted.
He is so thorough a man of the world, that he might
suggest some method to clear your good name, which
you yourself would approve. My uncle, Colonel
Morley—”
“On no account!” cried Waife, almost
fiercely, and he evinced so much anger and uneasiness
that it was long before George could pacify him by
the most earnest assurances that his secret should
be inviolably kept, and his injunctions faithfully
obeyed. No men of the world consulted how to
force him back to the world of men that he fled from!
No colonels to scan him with martinet eyes, and hint
how to pipeclay a tarnish! Waife’s apprehensions
gradually allayed and his confidence restored, one
fine morning George took leave of his eccentric benefactor.
Waife and Sophy stood gazing after him from their
garden-gate, the cripple leaning lightly on the child’s
arm. She looked with anxious fondness into the
old man’s thoughtful face, and clung to him more
closely as she looked.
“Will you not be dull, poor Grandy? will you
not miss him?”
“A little at first,” said Waife, rousing
himself. “Education is a great thing.
An educated mind, provided that it does us no mischief,—which
is not always the case,—cannot be withdrawn
from our existence without leaving a blank behind.
Sophy, we must seriously set to work and educate
ourselves!”
“We will, Grandy dear,” said Sophy, with
decision; and a few minutes afterwards, “If
I can become very, very clever, you will not pine so
much after that gentleman,—will you, Grandy?”
Being a chapter that
comes to an untimely end.
