Chapter 27
WHAT MICHAEL THOUGHT OF IT
'Not to be solitary one must possess, entirely to one's self, a human creature, and belong exclusively to her (or him).'--GUIZOT.
'How, then, is one to recover courage enough for action?
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By extracting a richer experience out of our losses and lessons.'--AMIEL.
Captain Burnett had finished his troublesome piece of business, and was thinking of his return home. His friend was, metaphorically speaking, on his feet again, and Michael was now free to leave London. He had waited, however, for another day or two on Kester's account; the friendly doctor who had undertaken to look into his case had already done wonders. Kester was making rapid progress under his care, and his bright looks and evident enjoyment of his town life reconciled Michael to their long, protracted stay.
'We must certainly go back to Rutherford next week,' he observed one morning, as they sat at breakfast together.
Kester had some appointment with Fred Somers that called him out early, and Captain Burnett good-naturedly left his letters unread, that he might pour out the coffee and attend to his wants.
'They will keep, and I have nothing to do this morning,' he remarked carelessly, as he took them up and laid them down again.
After all, he would not be sorry to read them alone. There was an Indian letter, and one from Audrey, and several notes that were evidently invitations.
When Kester had left him, he sat down in an easy-chair by the window. There was a little table beside him, with a red jar full of brown leaves and chrysanthemums. He picked out one and played with it for a moment, and then Booty jumped up uninvited and curled himself up on his knee.
He read the invitations first, and then threw them aside.
'I shall be at Rutherford,' he thought; and then he opened his Indian letter.
It was from a fellow-officer, and contained an amusing account of a visit he had lately paid to Calcutta. Just at the end it said: 'By the bye, somebody told me the other day that your uncle, Mr. Carlisle, was