“At my elbow, certainly,” replied the hussar. “Had I kept that quiet, I should have been still doing duty at the Horse-guards.”
“And may I inquire, my young friend, what might have formed the immediate inducement of your favouring us with a visit?” continued the Major, addressing a volunteer upon his right—“Did you shake the elbow—teach tradesmen book-keeping—shoot a friend who differed with you in opinion?—or—”
“None of these delinquencies have I committed. I am suffering for the sins of another,” was the reply.
“What a pity!” said Fitzmaurice; “and your friend, the sinner, pays the penalty by proxy—very convenient for him but rather hard on you. Would you oblige us with particulars?”
“‘Tis a short story,” said the volunteer, with a smile;—“An accursed cousin of mine paid some delicate attentions to the wife of his next-door neighbour; and, unfortunately, I was acquainted with the proceedings. ‘A d—d good-natured friend’ informed the little doctor, that his lady and my kinsman were fitting him for a state of beatitude, and ‘the injured husband’ commenced legal proceedings, to recover compensation for the loss he had sustained. Loss! To get rid of a regular virago, who lalopped him three days in the week, and made him miserable for the other four. Had the doctor possessed a spark of generosity, he would have given my wicked kinsman a service of plate, devil as he was! Well, though every body knew the truth, it was necessary to lug me in, as evidence, to prove it. ‘If you appear,’ said the defendant, ‘you’ll be my ruin, Tom;’—‘If you don’t, I’m done brown,’ said the doctor,—but to make all right, I’ll get an ne exeat regno.’ Here I was in a regular fix—between my cousin and the chancellor—the devil and the deep sea.’ I had no alternative but to bolt at once, and come here, hurry-scurry, like a sheep-stealer.”
“‘Well, there is one thing certain,—the devil was at the bottom of your business. And pray, may I inquire why you, Sir, sought this refugium peccatorum?” said Fitzmauriee, to a pale gentleman nearly opposite.
The person addressed “looked unutterable things,” and sighed profoundly.
“Ah—I see it. Nothing transportable,—not even suspicion of debt?”
The pallid gentleman shook his head.
“Then your sufferings are sentimental. Come—make a clean breast, and you’ll sleep all the sounder.”