Hunsden yawned.“Well,” said he, “in all this, I see but one thing clearly-that is, that the whole affair is no business of mine.“He stretched himself and again yawned.“I wonder what time it is,” he went on: “I have an appointment for seven o’clock.”

“Three quarters past six by my watch.”

“Well, then I’ll go.” He got up.“You’ll not meddle with trade again?” said he, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece.

“No; I think not.”

“You would be a fool if you did.Probably, after all, you’ll think better of your uncles’ proposal and go into the Church.”

“A singular regeneration must take place in my whole innerand outer man before I do that.A good clergyman is one of the best of men.”

“Indeed! Do you think so?” interrupted Hunsden, scoffingly.

“I do, and no mistake.But I have not the peculiar points which go to make a good clergyman; and rather than adopt a profession for which I have no vocation, I would endure extremities of hardship from poverty.”

“You’re a mighty difficult customer to suit.You won’t be a tradesman or a parson; you can’t be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a gentleman, because you’ve no money.I’d recommend you totravel.”

“What! without money?”

“You must travel in search of money, man.You can speak French—with a vile English accent, no doubt—still, you can speak it.Go on to the Continent, and see what will turn up for you there.”

“God knows I should like to go!” exclaimed I with involuntaryardour.

“Go: what the deuce hinders you? You may get to Brussels, for instance, for five or six pounds, if you know how to manage with economy.”

“Necessity would teach me if I didn’t.”

“Go, then, and let your wits make a way for you when you get there.I know Brussels almost as well as I know X—, and I am sure it would suit such a one as you better than London.”

“But occupation, Mr.Hunsden! I must go where occupation isto be had; and how could I get recommendation, or introduction, or employment at Brussels?”

“There speaks the organ of caution.You hate to advance a stepbefore you know every inch of the way.You haven’t a sheet of paper and a pen-and-ink?”

“I hope so,” and I produced writing materials with alacrity; for Iguessed what he was going to do.He sat down, wrote a few lines, folded, sealed, and addressed a letter, and held it out to me.

“There, Prudence, there’s a pioneer to hew down the firstrough difficulties of your path.I know well enough, lad, you are not one of those who will run their neck into a noose without seeing how they are to get it out again, and you’re right there.A reckless man is my aversion, and nothing should ever persuademe to meddle with the concerns of such a one.Those who are reckless for themselves are generally ten times more so for their friends.”

“This is a letter of introduction, I suppose?” said I, taking theepistle.

“Yes.With that in your pocket you will run no risk of finding yourself in a state of absolute destitution, which, I know, you will regard as a degradation—so should I, for that matter.The person to whom you will present it generally has two or three respectable places depending upon his recommendation.”

“That will just suit me,” said I.

“Well, and where’s your gratitude?” demanded Mr.Hunsden; “don’t you know how to say ‘Thank you?’”

“I’ve fifteen pounds and a watch, which my godmother, whom I never saw, gave me eighteen years ago,” was my rather irrelevant answer; and I further avowed myself a happy man, and professed that I did not envy any being in Christendom.

“But your gratitude?”

“I shall be off presently, Mr.Hunsden—to-morrow, if all be well: I’ll not stay a day longer in X— than I’m obliged.”

“Very good—but it will be decent to make due acknowledgment for the assistance you have received; be quick! It is just going to strike seven: I’m waiting to be thanked.”

“Just stand out of the way, will you, Mr.Hunsden: I want a key there is on the corner of the mantelpiece.I’ll pack my portmanteau before I go to bed “The house clock struck seven.

“The lad is a heathen,” said Hunsden, and taking his hat from a sideboard, he left the room, laughing to himself.I had half aninclination to follow him: I really intended to leave X— the next morning, and should certainly not have another opportunity of bidding him good-bye.The front door banged to.

“Let him go,” said I, “we shall meet again some day.”