'My lord,' said Gashford in his ear, as he drew the curtains of his bed
betimes; 'my lord!'
'Yes--who's that? What is it?'
'The clock has struck nine,' returned the secretary, with meekly folded
hands. 'You have slept well? I hope you have slept well? If my prayers
are heard, you are refreshed indeed.'
'To say the truth, I have slept so soundly,' said Lord George, rubbing
his eyes and looking round the room, 'that I don't remember quite--what
place is this?'
'My lord!' cried Gashford, with a smile.
'Oh!' returned his superior. 'Yes. You're not a Jew then?'
'A Jew!' exclaimed the pious secretary, recoiling.
'I dreamed that we were Jews, Gashford. You and I--both of us--Jews with
long beards.'
'Heaven forbid, my lord! We might as well be Papists.'
'I suppose we might,' returned the other, very quickly. 'Eh? You really
think so, Gashford?'
'Surely I do,' the secretary cried, with looks of great surprise.
'Humph!' he muttered. 'Yes, that seems reasonable.'
'I hope my lord--' the secretary began.
'Hope!' he echoed, interrupting him. 'Why do you say, you hope? There's
no harm in thinking of such things.'
'Not in dreams,' returned the Secretary.
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