A hectic flush spread over the soldier's face, and he looked away from the speaker as he answered,
"My name is Digby, it is true, sir; but I do not think we have met before. Come, Helen, I am well now,we will go home."
"Try and play with that great dog, my child," said the stranger,"I want to talk with your father."
The child bowed her submissive head, and moved away; but she did not play with the dog.
"I must reintroduce myself formally, I see," quoth the stranger. "You were in the same regiment with myself, and my name is L'Estrange."
"My Lord," said the soldier, rising, "forgive me that"
"I don't think that it was the fashion to call me 'my lord' at the mess- table. Come, what has happened to you?on half-pay?"
Mr. Digby shook his head mournfully.
"Digby, old fellow, can you lend me L100?" said Lord L'Estrange, clapping his ci-devant brother-officer on the shoulder, and in a tone of voice that seemed like a boy's, so impudent was it, and devil-me-Garish. "No! Well, that's lucky, for I can lend it to you." Mr. Digby burst into tears.
Lord L'Estrange did not seem to observe the emotion, but went on carelessly,
"Perhaps you don't know that, besides being heir to a father who is not only very rich, but very liberal, I inherited, on coming of age, from a maternal relation, a fortune so large that it would bore me to death if I were obliged to live up to it. But in the days of our old acquaintance, I fear we were both sad extravagant fellows, and I dare say I borrowed of you pretty freely."
"Me! Oh, Lord L'Estrange!"
"You have married since then, and reformed, I suppose. Tell me, old friend, all about it."
Mr. Digby, who by this time had succeeded in restoring some calm to his shattered nerves, now rose, and said in brief sentences, but clear, firm tones,
"My Lord, it is idle to talk of me,useless to help me. I am fast dying. But my child there, my only child" (he paused for an instant, and went on rapidly). "I have relations in a distant county, if I could but get to them; I think they would, at least, provide for her. This has been for weeks my hope, my dream, my prayer. I cannot afford the journey except by your help. I have begged without shame for myself; shall I be ashamed, then, to beg for her?"
"Digby," said L'Estrange, with some grave alteration of manner, "talk neither of dying nor begging. You were nearer death when the balls whistled round you at Waterloo. If soldier meets soldier and says 'Friend, thy purse,' it is not begging, but brotherhood. Ashamed! By the soul of Belisarius! if I needed money, I would stand at a crossing with my Waterloo medal over my breast, and say to each sleek citizen I had helped to save from the sword of the Frenchman, 'It is your shame if I starve.' Now, lean upon me; I see you should be at home: which way?"
The poor soldier pointed his hand towards Oxford Street, and reluctantly accepted the proffered arm.
"And when you return from your relations, you will call on me? What hesitate? Come, promise."
"I will."
"On your honour."
"If I live, on my honour."
"I am staying at present at Knightsbridge, with my father; but you will always hear of my address at No., Grosvenor Square, Mr. Egerton's. So you have a long journey before you?"
"Very long."
"Do not fatigue yourself,travel slowly. Ho, you foolish child! I see you are jealous of me. Your father has another arm to spare you."
Thus talking, and getting but short answers, Lord L'Estrange continued to exhibit those whimsical peculiarities of character, which had obtained for him the repute of heartlessness in the world. Perhaps the reader may think the world was not in the right; but if ever the world does judge rightly of the character of a man who does not live for the world nor talk of the world nor feel with the world, it will be centuries after the soul of Harley L'Estrange has done with this planet.