A thought struck me—it might be the poor Captain. I opened the door—it was he! There he stood in the hall, leaning upon a stick—almost sinking with weakness. He recognised me directly, and as he put out his hand to meet mine, I could see his eyes filled with tears, which he laboured to suppress. I brought him into my room—gave him a chair at the fire—and left him to himself a few minutes, in order that he might compose his feelings; for to have talked to him on the brutality of the landlord then would have wounded him still deeper. I chose, therefore, rather to affect ignorance of it; and while I remained out of the room, took an opportunity of addressing the landlord upon his conduct, and promised to be answerable for the Captain’s rent, which operated a marvellous change in his demeanour towards the poor sufferer whom he had but a moment before treated so harshly.
I returned to my room and made a glass of negus for my guest, affecting in my manners a degree of hilarity which was at vast variance with my real feelings. The Captain was too weak to sit up long; he had been confined to his bed ever since the night he had first seen me, owing to a cold he caught on his return to his lodgings, and, therefore, could not come to his appointment: he had frequently requested his landlord to oblige him by going to the house where we were to have met, and to speak to me, whom he described; but this as well as other favours was denied. All his money was gone, and he had tottered down that night as a last resource, to see me.
I exerted myself to make him happy: the landlady brought him a basin of gruel, of which he partook: his bed was prepared, and—what was never done before for him—warmed with her pan by her own hands. Every thing was attention, and my grateful friend was made as comfortable as one suffering under a consuming disease could be. He remained in bed from this night; and I could see that every day he became more feeble: the doctor who attended him informed me that his lungs were diseased, and that his case was out of the pale of remedy. I did every thing I could for him; and he felt great relief, he said, from my company; for I always kept conversation free from melancholy.
About a week after this last confinement of the Captain to his bed, the landlord offered to have warm curtains put up; this was desirable, and as they were already in the house, he sent for an upholsterer to hang them. I was sitting by the bed of the invalid when this upholsterer came in, along with the landlord, carrying the curtains. The Captain regarded him attentively; then whispering he said to me, “I think I know that man: ask him what is his name.” I did so, and the upholsterer answered that his name was Thomas Hanson. I beckoned to him, and he approached the bed. The Captain then fixed his eyes upon him, and in a weak voice said, “Tom, do you not know me?”
“No, Sir,” was the reply.
“Ah!” returned the Captain, “I am now so altered that nobody knows me;” and then burst into a flood of tears.
The man gazed on the sufferer intensely: he turned to me in evident embarrassment, and whispered, “I don’t recollect the gentleman, indeed, Sir.”
A short pause took place, and the Captain wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
“Were you not in the **th regiment while they served in Spain?” said he.
“Yes, Sir; I served with them there, and since they came home too. I have been pensioned, and now, thank God! I’m in a good way of business, on my own account. I assure you, Sir, I do not recollect your face.”