Having summed up, as it were, his own doubts in this remark, he proceeded with his task. While he was thus occupied, Massy entered, and threw himself into a chair.
“There, you may give it up, Traynor. Fate is ever against us, do and decide on what we will. Your confounded omen of a Friday was right this time.”
“What do you mean? Have you altered your mind?”
“I expected you to say so,” said the other, bitterly. “I knew that I should meet with this mockery of my resolution, but it is uncalled for. It is not I that have changed!”
“What is it, then, has happened,—do they refuse your passport?”
“Not that either; I never got so far as to ask for it. The misfortune is in this wise: on going to the bank to learn the sum that lay to my credit and draw for it, I was met by the reply that I had nothing there,—not a shilling. Before I could demand how this could be the case, the whole truth suddenly flashed across my memory, and I recalled to mind how one night, as I lay awake, the thought occurred to me that it was base and dishonorable in me, now that I was come to manhood, to accept of the means of life from one who felt shame in my connection with him. 'Why,' thought I, 'is there to be the bond of dependence where there is no tie of affection to soften its severity?' And so I arose from my bed, and wrote to Sir Horace, saying that by the same post I should remit to his banker at Naples whatever remained of my last year's allowance, and declined in future to accept of any further assistance. This I did the same day, and never told you of it,—partly, lest you should try to oppose me in my resolve; partly,” and here his voice faltered, “to spare myself the pain of revealing my motives. And now that I have buoyed my heart up with this project, I find myself without means to attempt it. Not that I regret my act, or would recall it,” cried he, proudly, “but that the sudden disappointment is hard to bear. I was feeding my hopes with such projects for the future when this stunning news met me, and the thought that I am now chained here by necessity has become a torture.”
“What answer did Sir Horace give to your letter?” asked Billy.
“I forget; I believe he never replied to it, or if he did, I have no memory of what he said. Stay,—there was a letter of his taken from me when I was arrested at Carrara. The seal was unbroken at the time.”
“I remember the letter was given to the Minister, who has it still in his keeping.”
“What care I,” cried Massy, angrily, “in whose hands it may be?”