The kind and prudent doctor did not press the question—he was content with its being heard, knowing that it would sink into the mind and produce its effect in due season. Accordingly, after some time, after Ormond had exhaled impatience, and exhausted invective, and submitted to necessity, he returned to reason with the doctor. One evening, when the doctor and his family had returned from walking, and as the tea-urn was just coming in bubbling and steaming, Ormond set to work at a corner of the table, at the doctor’s elbow.
“My dear doctor, suppose I was now to read over to you my list of books.”
“Suppose you were, and suppose I was to fall asleep,” said the doctor.
“Not the least likely, sir, when you are to do any thing kind for a friend—may I say friend?”
“You may. Come, read on—I am not proof against flattery, even at my age—well, read away.”
Ormond began; but at that moment there drove past the windows a travelling chariot and four.
“Sir Ulick O’Shane, as I live!” cried Ormond, starting up. “I saw him—he nodded to me. Oh! no, impossible—he said he would not come till next week—Where’s his letter?—What’s the date?—Could it mean this week?—No, he says next week quite plainly—What can be the reason?”
A note for Mr. Ormond was brought in, which had been left by one of Sir Ulick O’Shane’s servants as they went by.
“My commission, after all,” cried Harry. “I always knew, I always said, that Sir Ulick was a good friend.”
“Has he purchased the commission?” said Dr. Cambray.