“Hector, I am ready for thee now,” exclaimed the deep voice of Mr. Pryme.
“Farewell, dear Rachael; I have always heard that honesty was politic—but faith, I never thought till now that it was half so pleasant.”
“Friend Hector,” said the fair girl, with a look of rich espièglerie, as she hurried from the room, towards which the creaking of her father’s shoes announced that he was approaching,—“probity may be strained too far. For the future, content thyself with returning what thou owest, but add not interest to the debt that even a usurer would scruple to receive. Farewell. May thy honesty continue; for sudden conversions are always suspicious.”
She ran, laughing, from the apartment; and, in a few moments, Mr. Pryme summoned me to accompany him.
At his counting-house I found a packet which had arrived from my father by the morning’s post; and with surprise I found that it contained an order for my starting for London without delay. He had been privately apprised by a friend in the War-office, that an exchange might be effected with a lieutenant who was about to quit the Peninsula, from ill health. This would give me the full step; and I was directed to obtain a leave between returns—repair to town at once—and deliver, personally, letters my father had enclosed to certain functionaries at the Horse Guards.
I promptly obeyed the order, the colonel granted my request, and Don Juan like, I parted with Mr. Pryme—
“Bade my valet pack some things
According to direction, then received
A lecture and some money.