'Twas a long while since I had tasted the luxury of tobacco.
We talked of old days on the _Londonderry_, of Sir John Moore's last
campaign, of Falmouth and the packets, of the peace and the overthrow
of Bonaparte's ambitions; or, rather, 'twas he that talked and
questioned, while for me 'twas pleasure enough, and a pleasure long
denied me, to sit on terms with a well-read gentleman and listen to
talk of a quality which--"
"Which differed from that of the Rev. Philip Stimcoe's," suggested
Miss Belcher, as he hesitated. "Proceed, sir."
"I shall add, madam, that the Major very kindly invited me to sleep
that night under his roof. I could pick up the coach in the morning
(he said). But this I declined, professing that I preferred the
night for travelling, and maybe, before tiring myself, would
overtake one of Russell's waggons and obtain a lift; the fact being
that, grateful though I found it to sit and converse with him, my
conscience was accusing me all the while.
"Towards the end of our talk he had let slip by accident that he was
by no means a rich man. The money from that moment began to burn in
my pockets, and I had scarcely shaken hands with him and taken my
leave--which I did just as the sun was sinking behind the plantation
across the lane--before his guineas fairly scorched me.
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