Silence ensued. Susan made nervous haste with her needlework, and stumbled over it in her little flutter of vexation; but Horace was too much absorbed to notice this girlish show of feeling. When he had rocked in his chair a little, placing one foot on the side of the old-fashioned grate, he suddenly sprang up and thrust away his seat. "By George!" cried Horace--but not as that exclamation is usually uttered, "I've not got a friend in the world!--there isn't a man in existence, so far as I know, that will do anything for me!" "Oh, Horace!" said Susan, "think how much better off you are than some people. Don't always make the worst of everything! Think of poor Roger Musgrave at Tillington, who has neither father nor home--his godfather dead without making any provision for him, and nothing to do and nobody to look to, poor fellow--and breaking his heart for grief besides, and Peggy says will either 'list or die!" "And a very good alternative too," said Horace; "he's very well off for a poor milk-and-water nobody--free! and able to 'list if he likes, or die if he likes, without any one troubling their head about the matter. As to home and father, I heartily wish he had my share of these precious commodities. Do you think anywhere else a man like me would sell his soul for a bed and a dinner? There! there! hold your tongue, or talk of what you understand." "What do I understand, I wonder," cried Susan, "sewing on your worship's buttons? A man like you!--you are only nineteen after all, when the truth is told." "I am man enough to make my own way," said the youth, angrily; "it is not a question of years or days, if indeed you were able to judge of it at all, which you are not." "If I were so very certain of my own strength," cried Susan, following up her advantage, "I'd run away, if I did not care for home, or father, or--or anybody. If I did not mind about duty or affection, or such trifles, I'd go and make my own way, and not talk of it--I would! I know something, though I'm not so wise as you. I think it's shocking to talk discontent for ever, and gloom at everything. Why don't you go away? Think of the great people in books, that go to London with sixpence in their pockets, and turn out great merchants--or with a tragedy, and turn out Dr. Johnson. Think of Chatterton, whom you were reading of. You are better off a great deal than he!" "Chatterton was a fool," said Horace. "I promise you I'll wait for the tide, and not shoot myself when it's in the flow. I am much obliged for your advice. I've neither a tragedy nor a sixpence that I can call my own--but some of these days I'll go."