There was silence for some minutes. At length Lewis raised his head, revealing features on which the traces of deep emotion were visible, and stretching out his hand to his friend, said in a voice which trembled from excess of feeling, “God bless you, Frere; you are indeed a true friend!” He paused; then added suddenly, “Frere, promise me one thing,--promise me that whatever I may do, whatever rash act or evil deed my feelings may hurry me into, you will not give me up; that while we both live you will act by me as you have done to-day--that you will preserve me from myself, stand between me and my fiery nature; then shall I feel that I am not utterly deserted--you will be the link that shall still bind me to virtue.” “Well, if you fancy it will make you any happier, or better, or more reasonable, I will promise it,” returned Frere; “more particularly as I should most probably do it whether I promise it or not.” “You promise, then?” asked Lewis eagerly. “I do,” replied Frere. Lewis once more wrung his friend’s hand with such eagerness as to elicit a grimace of pain from that excellent individual, and then continued-- “A conversation of this nature regularly upsets me; I must go out and walk off the excitement before I shall be fit for anything. Come, Faust, good dog! I spoke up for Faust to-day, Frere, and the General accorded a dignified assent: ‘A dog more or less will make little difference in such an establishment as Broadhurst.’” “Did he say that?” inquired Frere. “Word for word,” returned Lewis. “Well, I thought better things of him! ‘Folks is sich fools!’ as my old lady downstairs says. Are you off? Mind you are at home in good time for dinner, for I have been seduced into accepting another evening engagement for us.” “Any more fighting?” asked Lewis anxiously. “No; thank goodness for that same!” returned Frere. “I wish I could meet that long Chartist,” continued Lewis, shaking his fist; “not that I bear him any ill-will, but it would be such a relief to me just now to knock somebody down. Mayn’t I set Faust at a policeman?” “Not unless you prefer Brixton to Broadhurst, and the treadmill to the tutorship,” returned Frere. “Well, good-bye till dinner-time,” responded Lewis, leaving the room. “I won’t punish your carpet any longer. Come, Faust!” “That is a most singular young man,” soliloquised Frere as he took down and unrolled a Persian manuscript; “very like an excitable steam-engine with an ill-regulated safety-valve in disposition; I only hope he won’t blow up bodily while I have the care of him. He is a fine fellow, too, and it’s impossible not to be very fond of him; but he’s an awful responsibility for a quiet man to have thrust upon him.”