“It will right you at last, Neville.”
“So I believe, and I hope I may live to know it.”
But perceiving that the despondent mood into which he was falling cast a shadow on the Minor Canon, and (it may be) feeling that the broad hand upon his shoulder was not then quite as steady as its own natural strength had rendered it when it first touched him just now, he brightened and said:
“Excellent circumstances for study, anyhow! and you know, Mr. Crisparkle, what need I have of study in all ways. Not to mention that you have advised me to study for the difficult profession of the law, specially, and that of course I am guiding myself by the advice of such a friend and helper. Such a good friend and helper!”
He took the fortifying hand from his shoulder, and kissed it. Mr. Crisparkle beamed at the books, but not so brightly as when he had entered.
“I gather from your silence on the subject that my late guardian is adverse, Mr. Crisparkle?”
The Minor Canon answered: “Your late guardian is a—a most unreasonable person, and it signifies nothing to any reasonable person whether he is adverse, perverse, or the reverse.”
“Well for me that I have enough with economy to live upon,” sighed Neville, half wearily and half cheerily, “while I wait to be learned, and wait to be righted! Else I might have proved the proverb, that while the grass grows, the steed starves!”
He opened some books as he said it, and was soon immersed in their interleaved and annotated passages; while Mr. Crisparkle sat beside him, expounding, correcting, and advising. The Minor Canon’s Cathedral duties made these visits of his difficult to accomplish, and only to be compassed at intervals of many weeks. But they were as serviceable as they were precious to Neville Landless.
When they had got through such studies as they had in hand, they stood leaning on the window-sill, and looking down upon the patch of garden. “Next week,” said Mr. Crisparkle, “you will cease to be alone, and will have a devoted companion.”