“At such a time as this to think of me instead of yourself! My lord, I never knew you till this moment—so well.”
“Nor I you, sir,” said Lord Oldborough. “It is the more unfortunate for us both, that our connexion and intercourse must now for ever cease.”
“Never, never, my lord, if you were to go out of power to-morrow—which Heaven, in its mercy and justice, forbid! I could never forget the goodness—I would never desert—in spite of all interest—I should continue—I hope your lordship would permit me to pay my duty—all intercourse could never cease.”
Lord Oldborough saw, and almost smiled at the struggle between the courtier and the man—the confusion in the commissioner’s mind between his feelings and his interest. Partly his lordship relieved, and partly he pained Mr. Falconer, by saying, in his firm tone, “I thank you, Mr. Falconer; but all intercourse must cease. After this hour, we meet no more. I beg you, sir, to collect your spirits, and to listen to me calmly. Before this day is at an end, you will understand why all farther intercourse between us would be useless to your interest, and incompatible with my honour. Before many hours are past, a blow will be struck which will go to your heart—for I see you have one—and deprive you of the power of thought. It is my wish to make that blow fall as lightly upon you as possible.”
“Oh! my lord, your resignation would indeed be a blow I could never recover. The bare apprehension deprives me at this moment of all power of thought; but still I hope—”
“Hear me, sir, I beg, without interruption: it is my business to think for you. Go immediately to the Duke of Greenwich, make what terms with him you can—make what advantage you can of the secret of my approaching resignation—a secret I now put in your power to communicate to his grace, and which no one yet suspects—I having told it to no one living but to yourself. Go quickly to the duke—time presses—I wish you success—and a better patron than I have been, than my principles would permit me to be. Farewell, Mr. Falconer.”
The commissioner moved towards the door when Lord Oldborough said “Time presses;” but the commissioner stopped—turned back—could not go: the tears—real tears—rolled down his cheeks—Lord Oldborough went forward, and held out his hand to him—the commissioner kissed it, with the reverence with which he would have kissed his sovereign’s hand; and bowing, he involuntarily backed to the door, as if quitting the presence of majesty.
“It is a pity that man was bred a mere courtier, and that he is cursed with a family on none of whom there is any dependence,” thought Lord Oldborough, as the door closed upon the commissioner for ever.
Lord Oldborough delayed an hour purposely, to give Mr. Falconer advantage of the day with the Duke of Greenwich: then ordered his carriage, and drove to—Mrs. Falconer’s.
Great was her surprise at the minister’s entrance.—“Concerned the commissioner was not at home.”