“Ah! but yes!” he said to me, in a parting visit he paid me the night before I started. “You cannote deceives me, my youngish friends! Lamartine was un republicain, hé?—Bien, he go un voyage en Orient; you, my dears Meestaire Lorton, are going to walk on a voyage en Ouest—dat is vraisemble. Ha! ha! Ze one visite the Arabes of ze old world, ze oders ze Arabes of ze nouvelle; and,—bote requires ze money, ze l’argent, ze cash. Ha! ha! Non, my youngish friends, you cannote deceives me!”
“But, I assure you, Monsieur Parole,” I replied. “I really have plenty—much more, indeed, than I absolutely require.”
“Ah! but yes! My dears, you moost take him to obliges me. I have gote here a leetle somme I doos note want. If you takes him note, I peetch him avays—peetch him avays, vraiment!”
And he handed me a little roll of banknotes, which I subsequently found to contain a hundred pounds.
It was, as I say, of no use my trying to get him to take them back; he would have no denial:—he absolutely got offended with me when I persisted in my refusal.
“Non!” he said. “When you come back a reech mans, you can pays me back; but, note till den! Non, Monsieur Lorton! I believes you considers me a friend. You offend me if you refuse! Take hims for ze memory de notre amitie!”
What could I do? I had to take the money after that.
The only great thing that grieved me at parting was the thought that I could not see Min, to have one parting word; but, even that favour was afforded me:—God was very good to me!
I had gone to the vicarage to say a last good-bye to the dear friends there. I was ushered into Miss Pimpernell’s parlour; but she was not there. Somebody else was, though; for, who should get up from the dear old lady’s seat in the fireside corner—where she always sat, winter and summer alike—but, my darling!
The surprise was almost too much for me, it was so unexpected. I thought it was her ghost at first.