'I have disturbed you!' 'I have not been sleeping.' 'Not sleeping!' he repeated, with assumed confusion.

'What can I say for having in your presence given utterance to thoughts--but they were sincere--they were sincere!' exclaimed the secretary, drawing his sleeve in a hasty way across his eyes; 'and why should I regret your having heard them ?' 'Gashford,' said the poor lord, stretching out his hand with manifest emotion.

'Do not regret it.

You love me well, I know--too well.

I don't deserve such homage.' Gashford made no reply, but grasped the hand and pressed it to his lips.
Then rising, and taking from the trunk a little desk, he placed it on a table near the fire, unlocked it with a key he carried in his pocket, sat down before it, took out a pen, and, before dipping it in the inkstand, sucked it--to compose the fashion of his mouth perhaps, on which a smile was hovering yet.
'How do our numbers stand since last enrolling-night ?' inquired Lord George.