y, John Grueby fixed
his hat on, wrongside foremost that he might be unconscious of the
shadow of the obnoxious cockade, and withdrew to bed; shaking his head
in a very gloomy and prophetic manner until he reached his chamber.

Chapter 36

Gashford, with a smiling face, but still with looks of profound
deference and humility, betook himself towards his master's room,
smoothing his hair down as he went, and humming a psalm tune. 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.

'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