"It was my fault, Master Oswald, all my fault; but I will never—never touch any sort of intoxicating liquor again—never, as the Lord hears me."
"Oh, tut, tut! you best fellow that ever was in the world! Who asks you for any such promises? Only promise that when there is a wine supper or card party in the wind, or any other signs of the times in the sky to warn you, you will take care to keep sober, knowing that I shall be likely to be something else. Wine is a good servant, but a bad master."
"Not good for me, ever, Master Oswald; certainly not good for me; probably not so for you, either."
"Come, come; you exceed your license, Valentine. You're a pretty fellow to preach to me, after nearly breaking my neck. However, that's ungenerous, after once forgiving you; so we'll say no more about it forever. But don't preach to me, whatever you do. Phædra nearly wears my patience out."
"Can I do anything to make you more comfortable, or help the time along?"
"N-o-o, I think not. Dr. Carter says I must keep quiet, and my head begins to ache now; so you had better darken the room, and leave me to rest."
Valentine closed all the shutters, and let down all the curtains, and then asked:
"Shan't I sit here, Master Oswald, to be at hand in case you should want anything?"
"No! Lord, no! it must be a d—l of a bore to sit in a dark room, with no better amusement than to watch somebody going off to sleep. No; go and take care of yourself, old fellow. I can ring if I should want anything," said Oswald, cheerfully.
"Always so very considerate when he is in his right mind," thought Valentine, as he took the tasseled end of the bellrope and put it in reach of his master's hand, before leaving the room.