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rious, and he has spluttered out some questions about you, cursing and swearing at you, and uttering incoherent threats about vengeance and all that. We must do something for the poor fellow, if we can. So come here and let us consult about the best way of doing him a service. I know so well to whom I am writing, that I do not scruple to recommend this course, as one which I am sure you will be most eager to adopt --come, therefore, if you canwe will tiff here together.

“ Yours, very sincerely,

“ JULIAN JENKS."

Agreeably as Peregrine was occupied when this letter arrived, he did not hesitate, for one moment, about responding to the appeal of his friend, Jenks. Telling Julia he had just heard that an acquaintance, he could not say a friend of his, was dangerously ill and lacking assistance, he asked the young lady to order her mamma's carriage to take him to Spence's Hotel. This she did immediately and without regret, for her feelings had been all the morning on the stretch, and she longed to retire into solitude for a little, and, if possible, recover her composure of spirit.

When Peregrine reached Spence's, he found Julian Jenks anxiously awaiting his arrival in the coffee-room. “ Well, Jenks," he said, " what are we to do?"

“ It is difficult to say," returned the gentleman

addressed, “I am afraid that our presence, and yours in particular, will only irritate the poor fellow; and it is of importance that he should be kept quiet. When I left him, about half an hour ago, he was fairly exhausted with cursing and swearing, and vowing vengeance; and he has since sunk into a sleep. Perhaps, when he awakes, some fresh crotchet may have taken possession of his brain; so we must wait to see what will be the effects of his nap, and in the meantime we may take our tiffin."

It is not to be supposed that Peregrine had any thing to say against so reasonable a proposition. The two friends, therefore, sat down to the tabled'hôte, and regaled themselves very much to their own satisfaction, and to the benefit of their failing bodies. Peregrine was excessively hungry, for it is notorious that love-making is the very hungriest of all occupations in the world, and a couple of hours of this, at the end of a jolt from Dum-Dum, had well nigh rendered him ravenous. The meal was, however, despatched in the course of time, and the conversation regarding Drawlincourt, which had been laid aside when the more inviting matter of eating was brought upon the tapis, was resumed with much spirit by both parties.

Julian Jenks had gone upstairs, directly he had finished his tiffin, to ascertain whether Drawlincourt was stirring, and he had learnt from a servant that the long cornet was awake, and much more quiet

and collected than he had been before his slumber.

" We must take advantage of this crisis,” suggested Jenks.

“ Certainly,” returned Peregrine, “ but when he sees me, the chances are that he will become as frantic as ever.”

“That depends upon you,” remarked Julian. “ The deuce it does ! - How?" asked Pere

grine.

“Why," resumed Jenks, “ I will tell you how. You are a deuced good fellow, Pultuney, and most generous; and, in what I am going to propose, I dare say you will think I have taken advantage of those qualities, to humbug you; but the fact is, I have been thinking over this matter for two hours before you came, and it appeared to me-does appear to me now, that there is only one thing to be done-you must beg the long comet's pardon.”

“ The devil I must,” exclaimed Peregrine.

“ Yes; you must, and what is more, you will,” returned Jenks, " it may be a bitter dose, but you will be glad of it afterwards. I know you will be glad of it afterwards; and to tell you the truth, I think that you ought. Remember how soundly you whipped him.”

“ I do remember that perfectly,” said Peregrine Pultuney, “and I remember too what occasioned it-he flung a glass of wine in my face, and the flogging only made us quits. I have nothing to beg his pardon for.”

“ Very well,” rejoined Jenks, “ we will grant all this—you do not owe him an apology, so make it a free gift; it will become you all the betterit will—charity is a better thing than justice, my good fellow-it will be a charity to beg his pardon."

“ Very well,” said Peregrine, “ I will think about it."

"Do,” urged Julian. " I do not deny that he richly deserved his horse-whipping—I was glad of it-I enjoyed the sight of it; and if he had only endured the horse-whipping, I should not pity him in the least; but he has suffered much- more than this six months of bodily fear to begin with—the loss of his passage—the expense of providing a new one- to say nothing of outfit and other things of that kind, left on board the Hastings—and lastly this fever, which is now afflicting him, and which will possibly bring him to the grave.”

“Well,” returned Peregrine, seriously, “ your catalogue is a sad one-very; but I do not know that all these evils are fairly assignable to the horsewhipping I gave him. The fear, if he has been in fear, I acknowledge; but not the loss of the passage."

“ You may depend upon it,” interrupted Julian Jenks, “ though I do not pretend to say exactly how it was brought about, that he would not have

lost his passage if you had not administered the horse-whipping—it was some act of skulking, you may depend upon it."

Well,” said Peregrine, “if I acknowledge the loss of the passage, I surely have had nothing to do with the fever.”

“ Not, perhaps, with the immediate cause of it," returned Julian; “ but a great deal. I am afraid, with keeping it on him. He might have had the fever, if you had not thrashed him, though you may depend upon it, that the irritation, produced by the annoyances he has been subjected to of late, has been a predisposing cause of the fever; but it is evident, beyond all shadow of doubt, that the present irritability under which he is labouring, and which prevents the least diminution of the alarming symptoms of the disease, is most certainly the effect of that horse-whipping. I know you too well, my good fellow, to think that you will misinterpret what I say. I do not wish to make you uneasy, but I have seen Drawlincourt, and heard what he raves about-these ravings do not permit me to hesitate for a moment about the advice it becomes me to offer you. You have placed your honour, as you say, in my keeping, and depend upon it I will take good care of it. But you must make Drawlincourt an apology now, and when he is well again, you may do what you like.”

“ Is it necessary?” asked Peregrine Pultuney.
VOL. II.

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