“I am sure, Gusty,” said she, drawing her arm within his, as he stood at the window,--“I am sure we must have friends who would find you some employment in the public service that you would not dislike, and you would even take interest in. Let us see first what we could ask for.” “No; first let us think of whom we could ask for it.” “Well, be it so. There is Sir Francis Deighton; isn't he a Cabinet Minister?” “Yes. My father gave him his first rise in life; but I 'm not sure they kept up much intimacy later on.” “I'll write to him, Gusty; he has all the Colonial patronage, and could easily make you governor of something tomorrow. Say 'yes;' tell me I may write to him.” “It's not a pleasant task to assign you, dear Nelly,” said he, with a sad smile; “and yet I feel you will do it better than I should.” “I shall write,” said she, boldly, “with the full assurance that Sir Francis will be well pleased to have an opportunity to serve the son of an old friend and benefactor.” “Perhaps it is that my late defeats have made me cowardly--but I own, Nelly, I am less than hopeful of success.” “And I am full of confidence. Shall I show you my letter when I have written it?” “Better not, Nelly. I might begin to question the prudence of this, or the taste of that, and end by asking you to suppress it all. Do what you like, then, and in your own way.” Nelly was not sorry to obtain permission to act free of all trammels, and went off to her room to write her letter. It was not till after many attempts that she succeeded in framing an epistle to her satisfaction. She did not wish--while reminding Sir Francis of whom it was she was speaking--to recall to him any unpleasant sentiment of an old obligation; she simply adverted to her father's long friendship for him, but dropped no hint of his once patronage. She spoke of their reverse in fortune with dignity, and in the spirit of one who could declare proudly that their decline in station involved no loss of honor, and she asked that some employment might be bestowed on her brother, as upon one well deserving of such a charge. “I hope there is nothing of the suppliant in all this? I hope it is such a note as Gusty would have approved of, and that my eagerness to succeed has involved me in no undue humility.” Again and again she read it over; revising this, and changing that, till at length grown impatient, she folded it up and addressed it, saying aloud, “There! it is in the chance humor of him who reads, not in the skill of the writer, lies the luck of such epistles.” “You forgot to call him Right Honorable, Nelly,” said Augustus, as he looked at the superscription. “I 'm afraid I 've forgotten more than that, Gusty; but let us hope for the best.” “What did you ask for?” “Anything--whatever he can give you, and is disposed to give, I 've said. We are in that category where the proverb says--there is no choice.” “I 'd not have said that, Nelly.”