As he
approached Lord George's door, he cleared his throat and hummed more
vigorously.
There was a remarkable contrast between this man'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.
'Hush!' he muttered softly, as he peeped in at the chamber-door. 'He
seems to be asleep. Pray Heaven he is! Too much watching, too much care,
too much thought--ah! Lord preserve him for a martyr! He is a saint, if
ever saint drew breath on this bad earth.'
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:
'The saviour of his country and his country'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
hearts--what happy slumbers his should be!' 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.
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