There was a gap in the book-case (next
to the old College Plato, with the Boniface Arms), where Helen's Bible
used to be. He has taken that with him, thought Pen. He knew why his
friend was gone. Dear, dear old George!
Pen rubbed his hand over his eyes. O, how much wiser, how much better,
how much nobler he is than I, he thought. Where was such a friend, or
such a brave heart? Where shall I ever hear such a frank voice, and
kind laughter? Where shall I ever see such a true gentleman? No wonder
she loved him. God bless him. What was I compared to him? What could
she do else but love him? To the end of our days we will be her
brothers, as fate wills that we can be no more. We'll be her knights,
and wait on her: and when we're old, we'll say how we loved her. Dear,
dear old George!
When Pen descended to his own chambers, his eye fell on the letter-box
of his outer door, which he had previously overlooked, and there was a
little note to A. P., Esq., in George's well-known handwriting, George
had put into Pen's box probably as he was going away.
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