inging up in bed, after repeating the
phrase 'unhappy country's sake' to himself, at least a dozen times,
'forsaken of God and man, delivered over to a dangerous confederacy of
Popish powers; the prey of corruption, idolatry, and despotism! Who says
I doubt? Am I called, and chosen, and faithful? Tell me. Am I, or am I
not?'

'To God, the country, and yourself,' cried Gashford.

'I am. I will be. I say again, I will be: to the block. Who says as
much! Do you? Does any man alive?'

The secretary drooped his head with an expression of perfect
acquiescence in anything that had been said or might be; and Lord George
gradually sinking down upon his pillow, fell asleep.

Although there was something very ludicrous in his vehement manner,
taken in conjunction with his meagre aspect and ungraceful presence, it
would scarcely have provoked a smile in any man of kindly feeling; or
even if it had, he would have felt sorry and almost angry with himself
next moment, for yielding to the impulse. This lord was sincere in his
violence and in his wavering. A nature prone to false enthusiasm, and
the vanity of being a leader, were the worst qualities apparent in his
composition. All the rest was weakness--sheer weakness; and it is
the unhappy lot of thoroughly weak men, that their very sympathies,
affections, confidences--all the qualities which in better constituted
minds are virtues--dwindle into foibles, or turn into downright vices.

Gashford, with many a sly look towards the bed, sat chuckling at his
master's folly, until his deep and heavy breathing warned him that he
might retire. Locking his desk, and replacing it within the trunk (but
not before he had taken from a secret lining two printed handbills), he
cautiously withdrew; looking back, as he went, at the pale face of
the slumbering man, above whose head the dusty plumes that crowned the
Maypole couch, waved drearily and sadly as though it were a bier.

Stopping on the staircase to listen that all was quiet, and to take off
his shoes lest his footsteps should alarm any light sleeper who might
be near at hand, he descended to the ground floor, and thrust one of his
bills beneath the great door of the house. That done, he crept softly
back to his own chamber, and from the window let another fall--carefully
wrapt round a stone to save it from the wind--into the yard below.

They were addressed on the back 'To every Protestant into whose hands
this shall come,' and bore wi