“And you know his business in England, young man?” said the lady, turning suddenly from the window to address me.
“I do not, madam.”
“Then I will tell you,” said she.
“No, no, Hester,” said the minister; “this is not necessary. You say that this is like him,—like enough to lead to his recognition; that is quite sufficient. Now, for yourself, Mr. Carew, for it is time I should speak of you. You have rendered a very considerable service to this Government, and I am ready to requite it. What are your own wishes in this respect?”
I bethought me for a moment what reply to make; but the more I considered, the more difficult became the reply. I might, by possibility, look too highly; or, by an equally probable error, I might place myself on too humble a level. He waited with courteous patience while this struggle lasted; and then, as if seeing all the force of my embarrassment, he hastened to relieve it.
“My question was perhaps ill-judged,” said he, kindly. “I should have remembered that your knowledge of this country and its habits is necessarily limited; and, consequently, that to choose a career in it must be difficult. If you will permit me, I will myself make the choice for you; meanwhile, and until the opportunity offer, I will employ you. You speak foreign languages—at least, French and German—fluently. Well, these are exactly the qualifications I desire to find at this moment.”
He paused for a second or two, and then, as though abandoning some half-formed intention, he named a day for me to wait on him at his official residence, and dismissed me.
I have now come to a portion of my history of which I scruple to follow rigorously the details. I cannot speak of myself without introducing facts, and names, and events which became known to me, some in strict confidence, some under solemn pledges of secrecy, and some from the accident of my position. I have practised neither disguise nor mystery with my reader, nor do I desire to do so now. No false shame, as regards myself, would induce me to stoop to this. But as I glance over the notes and journals before me, as I read, at random, snatches of the letters that litter my table, I half regret that I have been led into revelations which I must necessarily leave incomplete, or rashly involve myself in disclosures which I have no right to publish to the world.
So far as I can venture, however, I will dare to go. And to resume where I left off: From the time I saw the minister at Hounslow, I never beheld him again. A certain Mr. Addington—one of his secretaries, I believe—received me when I called, and was the means of intercourse between us. He was uniformly polite in his manner, but still cold and distant with me; treating me with courtesy, but strenuously declining all intimacy. For some weeks I continued to wait in expectancy of some employment. I sat my weary hours in the antechamber, and walked the lobbies with all the anxiety of a suitor; but to all appearance I was utterly forgotten, and the service I had rendered ignored. At last (it was about ten weeks after my interview), as I was proceeding one morning to my accustomed haunt,—hope had almost deserted me, and I persisted, more from habit than any prospect of success,—a servant, in the undress livery of one of the departments of state, met me in the street.
“Mr. Carew, I believe?” said he, touching his hat. “I have been over half the town this morning, sir, in search of you. You are wanted immediately, sir, at the Foreign Office.”