"Yes, your honour, in a twinkling," said the valet, disappearing.

"A sorry fellow," said Mr. Fielding, "but honest and faithful, and loves
me as well as a saint loves gold; 'tis his love makes him familiar."

Here the door was again opened, and the sharp face of Mr. O'Carroll
again intruded.

"How now, sirrah!" exclaimed his master.

Mr. O'Carroll, without answering by voice, gave a grotesque sort of
signal between a wink and a beckon. Mr. Fielding rose muttering an oath,
and underwent a whisper. "By the Lord," cried he, seemingly in a furious
passion, "and thou hast not got the bill cashed yet, though I told thee
twice to have it done last evening? Have I not my debts of honour to
discharge, and did I not give the last guinea I had about me for a
walking cane yesterday? Go down to the city immediately, sirrah, and
bring me the change."

The valet again whispered.

"Ah," resumed Fielding, "ah--so far, you say, 'tis true; 'tis a great
way, and perhaps the Count can't wait till you return. Prithee (turning
to me), prithee now, is it not vexatious,--no change about me, and my
fool has not cashed a trifling bill I have, for a thousand or so,
on Messrs. Child! and the cursed Salop puts not its _trust_ even in
princes; 'tis its way; 'Gad now, you have not a guinea about you?"

What could I say? My guinea joined Tarleton's, in a visit to that bourne
whence no _such_ traveller e'er returned.

Mr. O'Carroll now vanished in earnest, the wine and the chocolate soon
appeared. Mr. Fielding brightened up, recited his poetry, blessed his
good fortune, promised to call on me in a day or two; and assured me,
with a round oath, that the next time he had the honour of seeing me, he
would treat me with another pint of Madeira, exactly of the same sort.

I remember well that it was the evening of the same day in which I had
paid this visit to the redoubted Mr. Fielding, that, on returning from
a drum at Lady Hasselton's, I entered my anteroom with so silent a step,
that I did not arouse even the keen senses of Monsieur Desmarais. He was
seated by the fire, with his head supported by his hands, and intently
poring over a huge folio. I had often observed that he possessed a
literary turn, and all the hours in which he was unemployed by me he was
wont to occupy with books. I felt now, as I stood still and contemplated
his absorbed attention in the contents of the book before him, a strong
curiosity to know the nature of his studies;