“And what's the news up the country, Toby?” asked the major, as he broke the seal of the letter.
“'T is talking of a risin' they do be still, sir,—av the praties was in; glory be to God, they say it 'll be a great sayson.”
“For which, Toby,—the crops or the croppies?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Toby, with a most provoking look of idiocy. “And you won't buy Darby sir?” rejoined he, flourishing the printed placard. “No matter; here 's the whole, full, thrue, and particular account—” And so he turned the angle of the building, and I could hear his voice mingling with the street noises as he wended his way down Dame Street.
The major looked after him and smiled; and brief as was that smile, I saw in it how thoroughly he was duped.
“Come, sir, follow me, if you please,” said he, addressing me.
I mounted a flight of old and neglected stairs, and entered an anteroom, where, having waited for a few seconds, the major whispered an order to the porter, and passed on to the inner room, leaving me behind.
As Major Barton passed out by one door, the porter turned the key in the other, and placing it in his pocket, drew his chair to the window and resumed the newspaper he was reading when we entered. How long I waited I cannot say. My thoughts, though sad ones, chased each other rapidly, and I felt not the time as it passed. Suddenly the door opened, and I heard my name called. I drew a deep breath, like one who felt his fate was in the balance, and entered.
The room, which was plainly furnished, seemed to serve as an office. The green covered table that stood in the middle was littered with letters and papers, among which a large, heavy-browed, dark-featured man was searching busily as I came in. Behind, and partly beside him, stood Barton, in an attitude of respectful attention; while, with his back to the fire, was a third person, whose age might have been from thirty-five to forty. His dress was in the perfection of the mode: his topboots reaching to the middle of his leg; his coat, of the lightest shade of sky-blue, was lined with white silk; and two watch chains hung down beneath his buff waistcoat, in the acme of the then fashion. His features were frank and handsome, and saving a dash of puppyism that gave a character of weakness to the expression, I should deem him a manly, fine-looking fellow.
“So this is your 'Robespierre,' Major, is it?” cried he, bursting into a laugh, as I appeared.