They were drawing, he said, to a conclusion, and the particular charge which he had engaged himself to open was relinquished.[328] “I have therefore,” he cried, “washed my hands of making a speech, yet satisfied my conscience, my honour, my promises, and my intentions; for I have declined undertaking anything new, and no claim therefore remains upon me.”
“Well,” quoth I, “I am at a loss whether to be glad or sorry.”
He comprehended instantly,—glad for Mr. Hastings, or sorry for not hearing him. He laughed, but said something a little reproachful, upon my continued interest for that gentleman. I would not pretend it was diminished; I determined he should find me as frank as heretofore, and abscond, or abide, as his nerves stood the firmness.
“You are never, then” (I said afterwards), “to speak here?”
“Once,” he answered, “I said a few words—”
“O when?” I cried; “I am very sorry I did not know it, and hear you,—as you did speak!”
“O,” cried he, laughing, “I do not fear this flattery now, as I shall speak no more.”
“But what,” cried I, “was the occasion that drew you forth?”
“Nothing very material but I saw Burke run hard, and I wished to help him.”
“That was just,” cried I, “what I should have expected from you—and just what I have not been able not to honour, on some other occasions, even where I have most blamed the matter that has drawn forth the assistance.”