The _if_ shook Ingram a little; but he, next day, took his best manuscript, and left it at the M.P.'s house, for _he_ was "_not_ at home," like the other literary man, although Ingram really thought he heard his voice, when the servant took in the name of the caller; but the valet said, "Not at home, sir," when he returned, and so Ingram left the manuscript, and called again next day. To make the story as short as possible, he called fifteen times during the four weeks, but had only one more interview with the literary M.P. during that term; and this was the product of it: the M.P. assured Ingram that his manuscript possessed merit, much merit; that he had left it with his own publisher; and begged Ingram would call again in a few more days, and he would tell him whether the publisher received it. This seemed to Ingram Wilson a very solid foundation for most magnificent hopes. How could a publisher refuse a manuscript which was so highly recommended? and how could the M.P. fail, very highly, to recommend what he himself said "possessed merit, much merit?" Such were Ingram's questions; and he was a little shocked to see his friend, the kind gentleman, shake his head and give a silent look, when they were proposed in the gentleman's hearing. Another month passed, and the dream was dissipated! Ingram was always answered, "Not at home," when he called at the M.P.'s: his friend, the kind gentleman, called at the publisher's, and learned, most unequivocally, that the publisher had never had such a manuscript presented to him, either by the M.P. or any other person: Ingram wrote to the M.P., and received his manuscript by a messenger, for an answer; and was only prevented from writing back to tell the M.P. he was a rascal, by the advice, or, rather, _authority_, for it amounted to that, of his friend, the kind gentleman. And now, Ingram, spirit-broken and humbled with what he conceived to be his sanguine and foundationless folly, vowed to his friend that he would never believe promises in future, and would copy at the Museum, or "do any thing" as a means of obtaining a mere livelihood, till he could finish one of his works entirely, and try a publisher by his own application, and solely on the merits of his production. The gentleman cheered the youth, as well as he was able, but Ingram drooped from that time. A winter of heartache, inward grief, mortified pride, colds and coughs, and, eventually, consumption, succeeded. And then the sweet face of his beloved faded; and when the spring returned, it did not bring back the roses to her cheek.