r. Harrison listened with an air of such intense
interest that, though it flattered my vanity, not a little surprised
me. When I concluded, he grasped my hand firmly, muttering to himself--

"It is like him--just like him. The infernal scoundrel!"

"What do you know about him?" said I, astonished at the excited state
into which my revelations had thrown him.

"Only _too_ much," he responded, with a heavy sigh; and sinking back in
his chair, pressed his hands to his head, like one who wished to shut
out painful recollections, while I continued to grasp his arm and stare
at him in blank amazement. At length, rousing himself, he said with a
faint smile,--

"Don't make big eyes at me, Geoffrey. I cannot tell you all you wish to
know. At some other time, and in some other place, I will repay the
confidence you have reposed in me, and satisfy your queries; but not
here--not in the lion's den."

"For heaven's sake! don't keep silent now," I cried. "You have roused
my curiosity to such a pitch, that I shall go mad if you hold your
tongue. You _must_ speak out."

"I _must_ not, if, by so doing, I ruin your prospects and my own. Be
satisfied, Geoffrey, that I am your friend; that henceforth I will
regard you as a brother, and do all in my power to lighten and shorten
your present bondage."

The generous assurance he gave me of a warm and affectionate sympathy
in my destiny, nearly atoned for twenty years of sorrow and
degradation. The intense desire I felt to deserve his esteem, made me
anxious to cultivate my mind, which I had suffered to lie waste.
Harrison kindly offered his aid, and supplied me with books. I now
devoted myself with zeal to the task. For the first time I had a motive
for exertion; I no longer vegetated; I had a friend, and my real life
commenced from that day. I set apart two hours each night for reading
and study, and soon felt a keen relish for the employment.

"In these lie your best hope of independence, Geoffrey," said my kind
friend, laying his hand upon a pile of books, which, for lack of a
table, he placed upon the truck-bed in my mean garret. Then seating
himself beside me on the shabby couch, he proceeded to examine, by the
light of a miserable tallow-candle, a translation I had been making
from the Orations of Cicero.

"With your talents, Geoffrey, you need not fear the tyranny of any man.
It will be your own fault if you do not rise in the profession you have
chosen."

"The choice was