It was on a dark and dreary day in winter, and in that cheerless hour before the closing in of night, that Joseph sat thus in his solitary home. The sound of carriage-wheels and the sharp tramp of horses' feet—a rare event in these silent courts—slightly aroused him from a revery; but too indolent to go to the window, he merely raised his head to listen; and now a loud knock shook the outer door of his chambers. With a strange sense of perturbation at this unwonted summons, he arose and opened it.
“The Chief Secretary begs to know if Mr. Nelligan is at home?” said a well-powdered footman, in a plain but handsome livery.
“Yes; I am the person,” said Joseph, with a diffidence strongly in contrast with the composure of the other; and while he yet stood, door in hand, the steps of the carriage were let down, and a tall venerable-looking man, somewhat past the prime of life, descended and approached him.
“I must be my own introducer, Mr. Nelligan,” said he; “my name is Massingbred.”
With considerable confusion of manner, and in all that hurry in which bashful men seek to hide their awkwardness, Joseph ushered his visitor into his dimly lighted chamber.
Colonel Massingbred, with all the staid composure of a very quiet demeanor, had quite sufficient tact to see that he was in the company of one little versed in the world, and, as soon as he took his seat, proceeded to explain the reason of his visit.
“My son has told me of the great pleasure and profit he has derived from knowing you, sir,” said he; “he has also informed me that a slight and purely casual event interrupted the friendship that existed between you; and although unable himself to tender personally to you at this moment all his regrets on the subject, he has charged me to be his interpreter, and express his deep sorrow for what has occurred, and his hope that, after this avowal, it may never be again thought of by either of you.”
“There was a misunderstanding,—a fault on both sides. I was wrong in the first instance,” said Nelligan, faltering and stammering at every word.
“Mr. Nelligan is in a position to be generous,” said the Colonel, blandly, “and he cannot better show the quality than by accepting a frank and full apology for a mere mistake. May I trust,” continued he,—but with that slight change of tone that denoted a change of topic,—“that you have somewhat abated those habits of severe study you have hitherto pursued? Jack is really uneasy on that score, and wisely remarks that great talents should be spared the penalty of great labor.”
“I am not reading now. I have read very little of late,” said Joseph, diffidently.