“Angry, sir, angry”—was the answer—“I'm never angry—there's nothing worth being angry about in this world. Do you take snuff, sir? I've some that came from—Umph! eh!” he continued, fumbling in all his pockets—“hope I haven't lost my box—given me by the Begum of Cuddleakee—splendid woman—only complexion too strong of the tawny—Umph! left it in the other room, I suppose—back in a moment, sir—Umph! umph!” and, suiting the action to the word, he went out, slamming the door behind him.
As the reader may suppose, I was equally surprised and pleased to find that my old friend not only remembered our former intimacy, but felt so warm an interest in my welfare as to have put himself quite in a rage on hearing of my supposed delinquencies. Although it had been the means of eliciting such strong indications of his continued regard for me, I felt half sorry for the deception I had practised upon him—the only thing that could be done now, however, was to make myself known to him without delay, and his absence from the room enabled me to put in practice a plan for doing so which I had had in my mind all along. Accordingly, going up to the chimney-glass I shook my hair forward, so that it fell in waving curls about my face and forehead—took the stiffener out of my neckcloth and, knotting the latter closely round my throat, turned down my shirt-collar, so as to resemble as nearly as possible the Byron-tie of my boyhood—then unbuttoning and throwing open my coat I resumed my seat, arranging the candles so as to throw the light full upon my face as I did so. I had scarcely completed my arrangements when I heard Mr. Frampton's footstep in the passage, and in another moment he entered the room. “All right, Mr. Lee, all right, sir; I found the box in my other coat-pocket; I was afraid the thieves might have forestalled me; but—Umph!—eh!—why?—who?” Catching sight of me as he spoke, he stopped short, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed earnestly at me, with a look half-bewildered, half-incredulous. Taking advantage of his silence I inquired in my natural tone and manner whether he had seen Dr. Mildman lately.
“Umph! eh! Dr. Mildman?” was the reply—“why it can't be—and yet it is—the boy Frank Fairlegh himself! Oh! you young villain!” and completely overcome by the sudden and unexpected nature of the surprise he sank back into a chair, looking the picture of astonishment.
Springing to his side, and pressing his hand warmly between my own, I exclaimed, “Forgive me for the trick I have played you, sir. I knew you the moment I heard your voice, when I was helping you up to-night, and, finding you did not recognise me, I could not resist the temptation of preserving my incognito a little longer, and introducing myself as a stranger.”
“Oh! you young scapegrace,” was the rejoinder, “if ever I forgive you, I'll—umph!—that I will”—then changing his tone to one of much feeling, he continued, “So you hadn't forgotten the old man then, Frank? good boy, good boy”.
I had seated myself on a stool at his feet, and as he spoke he patted my head with his hand, as if I had been a favourite dog.
“And all the things you said against yourself were so many lies, I suppose? Umph! you are no friend to the homicide Wilford?”
“True to the ear, but false to the sense, sir,” replied I. “Harry Oaklands is the dearest friend I have on earth; we love each other as brothers—between the man whose hand was so lately raised to shed that brother's blood, and myself, there can be little friendship—if I do not positively hate him, it is only because I would not willingly hate any one. Lawless was an old fellow-pupil of mine, and, though he has many follies about him, is at bottom more kind-hearted and well-disposed than people give him credit for; we still continue friends, therefore, but, our habits and pursuits being essentially different, I see very little of him—with Curtis I never exchanged half a dozen words in my life.”
“Umph! I understand, I understand; and how is Harry Oaklands? better again, eh?”
The reply to this query led to my being obliged to give Mr. Frampton a succinct account of the duel, and it was not till I explained my intention of trying for honours, and made him comprehend the necessity of my being fully prepared for the ensuing examination, that he would hear of my departure; and, when at last he did allow me to go, he insisted on accompanying me to the gate of Trinity, and made me promise to let him see me as often as I was able during his stay in Cambridge, where, he informed me, he proposed remaining till after the degrees wore conferred.