"That's good," he repeated, in a muse, staring deep into the red coals
in the grate. "That's very good."
I ran away--closed my door upon this wretched behavior, but could not
shut its ghastly sauciness and treachery from the chambers of my
memory. The habit of faith and affection was strong: I was no longer
concerned for my friend John Cather, but was mightily ashamed of this
failure in duty to the grotesque old hook-and-line man who had without
reserve of sacrifice or strength nourished me to the lusty years of
that night. As I lay in bed, I recall, downcast, self-accusing,
flushed with shame, I watched the low clouds scud across the starlit
sky, and I perceived, while the torn, wind-harried masses rushed
restlessly on below the high, quiet firmament, that I had fallen far
away from the serenity my uncle would teach me to preserve in every
fortune.
"I'll not fail again!" thinks I. "Not I!"
'Twas an experience profitable or unprofitable, as you shall presently
judge.