'I tell thee what, Antonio—
love thee, and It is my love that speaks.'"
Pownal promised to be very obedient, in consideration whereof the doctor guaranteed he should receive great satisfaction from his wound. "You shall see for yourself," he said, "how beautifully it will heal. To a scientific eye, and under my instruction you shall get one, there is something delightful in witnessing the granulations. We may say of Nature, as Dr. Watts sings of the honey-bee:
'How skillfully she builds her cell,
How neat she stores the wax!'
I consider you a fortunate fellow."
The young men were obliged to smile at the doctor's way of viewing the subject; but he paid little attention to their mirth.
"And I will remain, meanwhile, with you," said William Bernard, which was the name of the gentleman who had accompanied the physician, addressing himself to Pownal, "if our good friend,"—and here he looked at Holden—"has no objection."
The Recluse signified his assent; and Pownal, thanking his friend, the doctor gave his sanction to the arrangement.
"It will do you no harm, William," he said, "to rough it for a night or two, and you will prove yourself thereby of a different stamp from Timon's friends." And here the doctor, who loved to quote poetry, especially Shakspeare's, better than to administer medicine, indulged again in his favorite habit:
"'As we do turn our backs
From our companion thrown into his grave,
So his familiars, to his buried fortunes,
Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses picked, and his poor self
A dedicated beggar to the air.'
But, Mr. Holden, lend me thy ears a moment, and thy tongue, too, if you please, for you must tell me how this happened. I do not care to disturb Pownal with the inquiry."