favour I ask, I entreat, I supplicate you
to accord me: me, who have ever eaten of your bread, and whom your roof
hath ever shrouded!'

'My friend, I cannot speak,' said Sir Ratcliffe, throwing himself back
in the chair and covering his face with his right hand; 'I know not what
to say; I know not what to feel.'

Glastonbury advanced, and gently took his other hand. 'Dear Sir
Ratcliffe,' he observed, in his usual calm, sweet voice, 'if I have
erred you will pardon me. I did believe that, after my long and
intimate connection with your house; after having for nearly forty years
sympathised as deeply with all your fortunes as if, indeed, your noble
blood flowed in these old veins; after having been honoured on your
side with a friendship which has been the consolation and charm of my
existence; indeed, too great a blessing; I did believe, more especially
when I reminded myself of the unrestrained manner in which I had availed
myself of the advantages of that friendship, I did believe, actuated by
feelings which perhaps I cannot describe, and thoughts to which I cannot
now give utterance, that I might venture, without offence, upon this
slight service: ay, that the offering might be made in the spirit of
most respectful affection, and not altogether be devoid of favour in
your sight.'

'Excellent, kind-hearted man!' said Sir Ratcliffe, pressing the hand of
Glastonbury in his own; 'I accept your offering in the spirit of perfect
love. Believe me, dearest friend, it was no feeling of false pride that
for a moment influenced me; I only felt-'

'That in venturing upon this humble service I deprived myself of some
portion of my means of livelihood: you are mistaken. When I cast my lot
at Armine I sank a portion of my capital on my life; so slender are my
wants here, and so little does your dear lady permit me to desire,
that, believe me, I have never yet expended upon myself this apportioned
income; and as for the rest, it is, as you have seen, destined for our
Ferdinand. Yet a little time and Adrian Glastonbury must be gathered to
his fathers. Why, then, deprive him of the greatest gratification of
his remaining years? the consciousness that, to be really serviceable to
those he loves, it is not necessary for him to cease to exist.'

'May you never repent your devotion to our house!' said Sir Ratcliffe,
rising from his seat. 'Time was we could give them who served us
something better than thanks; but, at any rate, these