'Why, Gashford?' said Lord George, who was lying broad awake, upon his
side, and had been staring at him from his entrance.
'My--my lord,' said Gashford, starting and looking round as though in
great surprise. 'I have disturbed you!'
'I have not been sleeping.'
'Not sleeping!' he repeated, with assumed confusion. 'What can I say
for having in your presence given utterance to thoughts--but they were
sincere--they were sincere!' exclaimed the secretary, drawing his sleeve
in a hasty way across his eyes; 'and why should I regret your having
heard them?'
'Gashford,' said the poor lord, stretching out his hand with manifest
emotion. 'Do not regret it. You love me well, I know--too well. I don't
deserve such homage.'
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 it--to compose the fashion of his mouth perhaps, on
which a smile was hovering yet.
'How do our numbers stand since last enrolling-night?' inquired Lord
George.
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