Chapter 36

Gashford, with a smiling face, but still with looks of profound deference and humility, betook himself towards his mastera€™s room, smoothing his hair down as he went, and humming a psalm tune. As he approached Lord Georgea€™s door, he cleared his throat and hummed more vigorously.

There was a remarkable contrast between this mana€™s occupation at the moment, and the expression of his countenance, which was singularly repulsive and malicious. His beetling brow almost obscured his eyes; his lip was curled contemptuously; his very shoulders seemed to sneer in stealthy whisperings with his great flapped ears.

a€˜Hush!a€™ he muttered softly, as he peeped in at the chamber-door. a€˜He seems to be asleep. Pray Heaven he is! Too much watching, too much care, too much thoughta€"ah! Lord preserve him for a martyr! He is a saint, if ever saint drew breath on this bad earth.a€™

Placing his light upon a table, he walked on tiptoe to the fire, and sitting in a chair before it with his back towards the bed, went on communing with himself like one who thought aloud, a€˜The saviour of his country and his countrya€™s religion, the friend of his poor countrymen, the enemy of the proud and harsh; beloved of the rejected and oppressed, adored by forty thousand bold and loyal English heartsa€"what happy slumbers his should be!a€™ And here he sighed, and warmed his hands, and shook his head as men do when their hearts are full, and heaved another sigh, and warmed his hands again.

a€˜Why, Gashford?a€™ said Lord George, who was lying broad awake, upon his side, and had been staring at him from his entrance.

a€˜Mya€"my lord,a€™ said Gashford, starting and looking round as though in great surprise. a€˜I have disturbed you!a€™

a€˜I have not been sleeping.a€™

a€˜Not sleeping!a€™ he repeated, with assumed confusion. a€˜What can I say for having in your presence given utterance to thoughtsa€"but they were sincerea€"they were sincere!a€™ exclaimed the secretary, drawing his sleeve in a hasty way across his eyes; a€˜and why should I regret your having heard them?a€™

a€˜Gashford,a€™ said the poor lord, stretching out his hand with manifest emotion. a€˜Do not regret it. You love me well, I knowa€" too well. I dona€™t deserve such homage.a€™

Gashford made no reply, but grasped the hand and pressed it to his lips. Then rising, and taking from the trunk a little desk, he placed it on a table near the fire, unlocked it with a key he carried in his pocket, sat down before it, took out a pen, and, before dipping it in the inkstand, sucked