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60 W hen I had read the letter, I handed it up to Gabord without a word. A show of trust in him was the only thing, for he had knowledge enough of our secret to ruin us, if he chose. He took the letter, turned it over, looking at it curiously, and at last, with a shrug of the shoulders, passed it back. “’Tis a long tune on a dot of a fiddle,” said he, for indeed the letter was but a small affair in bulk. “I’d need two pairs of eyes and telescope ! Is it all Heart-o’-my-heart, and Come-trip-in-dewy-grass—aho? Or is there knave at window to bear m’sieu’ away?” I took the letter from him. “Listen,” said I, “to what the lady says of you.” And then I read him that part of her postscript which had to do with himself. He put his head on one side like a great wise magpie, and “H’m— ha!” said he whimsically, “aho! Gabord the soldier, Gabord, thou hast a good heart—and the birds fed the beast with plums and froth of comfits till he died, and on his sugar tombstone they carved the words, ‘Gabord had a good heart.’” “It was spoken out of a true spirit,” said I petulantly, for I could not bear from a common soldier even a tone of disparagement, though I saw the exact meaning of his words. So I added, “You shall read the The Device of the Dormouse Chapter V 61 whole letter, or I will read it to you and you shall judge. On the honour of a gentleman, I will read all of it!” “Poom!” said he, “English fire-eater! corn-cracker! Show me the ‘good heart’ sentence, for I’d see how it is written—how Gabord looks with a woman’s whimsies round it.” I traced the words with my fingers, holding the letter near the torch. “‘Yet he will not be rougher than his orders,’” said he after me, and “‘He did me a good service once.’” “Comfits,” he continued; “well, thou shalt have comfits, too,” and he fished from his pocket a parcel. It was my tobacco and my pipe. Truly, my state might have been vastly worse. Little more was said between Gabord and myself, but he refused bluntly to carry message or letter to anybody, and bade me not vex him with petitions. But he left me the torch and a flint and steel, so I had light for a space, and I had my blessed tobacco and pipe. When the doors clanged shut and the bolts were shot I lay back on my couch. I was not all unhappy. Thank God, they had not put chains on me, as Governor Dinwiddie had done with a French prisoner at Williamsburg , for whom I had vainly sought to be exchanged two years before, though he was my equal in all ways and importance. Doltaire was the cause of that, as you shall know. Well, there was one more item to add to his indebtedness. My face flushed and my fingers tingled at thought of him, and so I resolutely turned my meditations elsewhere, and again in a little while I seemed to think of nothing, but lay and bathed in the silence, and indulged my eyes with the good red light of the torch, inhaling its pitchy scent. I was conscious, yet for a time I had no thought: I was like something half animal, half vegetable, which feeds, yet has no mouth, nor sees, nor hears, nor has sense, but only lives. I seemed hung in space, as one feels when going from sleep to waking— a long lane of half-numb life, before the open road of full consciousness is reached. At last I was aroused by the sudden cracking of a knot in the torch. 62 I saw that it would last but a few hours more. I determined to put it out, for I might be allowed no more light, and even a few minutes of this torch every day would be a great boon. So I took it from its place, and was about to quench it in the moist earth at the foot of the wall, when I remembered my tobacco and my pipe. Can you think how joyfully I packed full the good brown bowl, delicately filling in every little corner, and at last held it to...


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