"Only just in a friendly way, my dear fellow," exclaimed Chichester. "But you stated that you had been looking for me and Harborough for a long time?"
"Yes—I was anxious enough to see you both," returned Pocock: "and I'll tell you the reason why. You remember that night—some few years ago—when you two got such a precious walloping at the Dark House in Brick Lane, Spitalfields?"
"Well—well," said the baronet: "go on."
"Oh! I see you haven't forgot it! You also know that on that same night the very young man whom we all ruined, was present—I mean Richard Markham."
"Yes—to be sure. But what of that?" demanded Chichester.
"Why—I gave him a paper, drawed up and signed by myself,—plain William Pocock, and none of your aristocratic Talbots."
"And that paper?" said the baronet, anxiously.
"Contained a complete confession of the whole business that brought him into trouble," continued Pocock. "But he pledged himself not to use it to my prejudice; and that's the reason why you never heard of it in a legal way. On that same occasion he put a fifty-pound note into my hand, saying, 'Accept this as a token of my gratitude and a proof of my forgiveness; and endeavour to enter an honest path. Should you ever require a friend, do not hesitate to apply to me.'—Those was his words; and they made a deep impression on me. Yes—gentlemen, and I did enter an honest path," continued Pocock, proudly: "and that money prospered me. I returned to my old business as an engraver—I left off going to public-houses—I worked hard, and redeemed my character with my old employers. Since that night at the Dark House all has gone well with me. I have never applied to my benefactor—because I have never required a friend. But I have prayed for him morning and evening—yes, gentlemen, prayed! I know that this may sound strange in your ears: it is nevertheless true—and I am not ashamed to own it. And while that faultless young man was pursuing his glorious career in a foreign land, there was an obscure but grateful individual in London who wept over his first reverses, but who laughed, and sang, and danced for joy when the newspapers brought the tidings of his great battles. And that individual was myself: for he was my saviour—my guardian angel—my benefactor! Instead of heaping curses upon me, he had spoken kind words of forgiveness and encouragement: instead of spurning me from his presence, he had given me money, and told me to look upon him as my friend! My God! such a man as that can save more souls and redeem more sinners than all the Bishops that ever wore lawn sleeves! I adore his very name—I worship him—I am as proud of his greatness as if he was my own son; and all Prince though he now is, did it depend upon me, he should wear a crown."
And as he spoke, the grateful man's voice became tremulous with emotions; and the big tears rolled down his cheeks.
There was at that moment something so commanding—something so superior about even this vulgar individual, that Chichester and Harborough found themselves unable to reply to him in that strain of levity with which they would have gladly sought to sneer away his eulogies of one whom they hated and feared.