"What would you have me do?"
"Yield to circumstances."
"Become a villain?" This was said with a very tragic air.
"May Heaven forbid! I should be sorry to see you so nearly resemble your uncle. But I would have you avoid uselessly offending him; for, by constantly inflaming his mind to anger, you may ruin your own prospects, and be driven in desperation to adopt measures for obtaining a living, scarcely less dishonourable than his own."
"Go on," I cried: "it is all very well for you to talk in this philosophical strain. You have not been educated in the same bitter school with me; you have not known what it is to writhe beneath the oppressive authority of this cold, unfeeling man; you cannot understand the nature of my sufferings, or the painful humiliation I must daily endure."
He took my hand affectionately.
"Geoffrey," said he, "how do you know all this? Yours is not a profession which allows men to jump at conclusions. What can you tell of my past or present trials. What if I should say, they had been far greater and worse to bear than your own?"
"Impossible!"
"All things that have reference to sorrow and trouble, in this world, are only too possible. But I will have patience with you, my poor friend; your heart is very sore. The deadly wounds in mine are partially healed; yet, my experience of life has been bought with bitter tears;—the loss of hope, health and self-respect. I am willing that you should profit by this; and, having made this confession, will you condescend to hear my lecture to an end?"
"Oh, tell me something more about yourself. I would rather listen to your sorrows, than have my faults paraded before me."