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Updated: June 9, 2025
* See Betteredge's Narrative, chapter viii. "You won't hurry me, Godfrey?" "My time shall be yours." "You won't ask me for more than I can give?" "My angel! I only ask you to give me yourself." "Take me!" In those two words she accepted him! He had another burst a burst of unholy rapture this time. He drew her nearer and nearer to him till her face touched his; and then No!
I call old Gabriel Betteredge one of my friends; and you will be amused to hear that he protested strongly when I saw him yesterday. 'You have done a wonderful number of foolish things in the course of your life, Mr. Franklin, but this tops them all! There is Betteredge's opinion! You will make allowance for his prejudices, I am sure, if you and he happen to meet?" I left Mr.
Jennings! you have fallen to the lowest possible place in Betteredge's estimation. Say what you like, and do what you like, for the future. You will find that he won't waste another word on you now." June 21st. A short entry must suffice in my journal to-day. Mr. Blake has had the worst night that he has passed yet. I have been obliged, greatly against my will, to prescribe for him.
With Betteredge's help, I soon stood in the right position to see the Beacon and the Coast-guard flagstaff in a line together. Following the memorandum as our guide, we next laid my stick in the necessary direction, as neatly as we could, on the uneven surface of the rocks. And then we looked at our watches once more. It wanted nearly twenty minutes yet of the turn of the tide.
Having one foot already in the grave, sir, the fewer lies you expect me to tell, the more I shall be indebted to you, when my conscience pricks me and my time comes." There was not a moment to be wasted on the purely speculative question of Betteredge's conscience. Mr. Blake might make his appearance in search of me, unless I went to him at once in his own room.
Betteredge's present effort at corresponding with me came within this category. Mr. Candy's assistant, otherwise Ezra Jennings, had told his master that he had seen me; and Mr. Candy, in his turn, wanted to see me and say something to me, when I was next in the neighbourhood of Frizinghall. What was to be said in answer to that, which would be worth the paper it was written on?
Out of the house, I had Betteredge's word for it that he was unpopular everywhere. "What a life!" I thought to myself, as we descended the doctor's doorsteps. Having already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side, Ezra Jennings now appeared determined to leave it to me to resume the subject. His silence said significantly, "It's your turn now."
He has, in his own quaint way, interpreted seriously one of his young mistress's many satirical references to my foreign education; and has persuaded himself that he actually saw those French, German, and Italian sides to my character, which my lively cousin only professed to discover in jest, and which never had any real existence, except in our good Betteredge's own brain.
"Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to what it was last year. Also, the corridor leading from the sitting-room to the first landing. Also, the second corridor, leading from the second landing to the best bedrooms. Also, the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin Blake." Betteredge's blunt pencil followed me conscientiously, word by word.
Searching for something else in one of the pockets, I came upon a crumpled piece of paper, and, taking it out, found Betteredge's forgotten letter in my hand. It seemed hard on my good old friend to leave him without a reply. I went to my writing-table, and read his letter again. A letter which has nothing of the slightest importance in it, is not always an easy letter to answer.
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