Herbert received me with open arms, and I had never felt before so
blessedly what it is to have a friend. When he had spoken some sound
words of sympathy and encouragement, we sat down to consider the
question, What was to be done?
The chair that Provis had occupied still remaining where it had
Stood,--for he had a barrack way with him of hanging about one spot, in
one unsettled manner, and going through one round of observances with
his pipe and his negro-head and his jackknife and his pack of cards,
and what not, as if it were all put down for him on a slate,--I say his
chair remaining where it had stood, Herbert unconsciously took it, but
next moment started out of it, pushed it away, and took another. He had
no occasion to say after that that he had conceived an aversion for my
patron, neither had I occasion to confess my own. We interchanged that
confidence without shaping a syllable.
"What," said I to Herbert, when he was safe in another chair,--"what is
to be done?"
"My poor dear Handel," he replied, holding his head, "I am too stunned
to think."
"So was I, Herbert, when the blow first fell. Still, something must be
done. He is intent upon various new expenses,--horses, and carriages,
and lavish appearances of all kinds. He must be stopped somehow."
"You mean that you can't accept--"
"How can I?" I interposed, as Herbert paused. "Think of him! Look at
him!"
An involuntary shudder passed over both of us.
"Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, Herbert, that he is attached to
me, strongly attached to me. Was there ever such a fate!"
"My poor dear Handel," Herbert repeated.
"Then," said I, "after all, stopping short here, never taking another
penny from him, think what I owe him already! Then again: I am heavily
in debt,--very heavily for me, who have now no expectations,--and I have
been bred to no calling, and I am fit for nothing."
"Well, well, well!" Herbert remonstrated. "Don't say fit for nothing."
"What am I fit for? I know only one thing that I am fit for, and that
is, to go for a soldier. And I might have gone, my dear Herbert, but for
the prospect of taking counsel with your friendship and affection."
Of course I broke down there: and of course Herbert, beyond seizing a
warm grip of my hand, pretended not to know it.