“Do you think I could?”
“Why, yes; you always take Elderthwaite abuses under your protection. You would be the only curate to please the parson and his parishioners, too!”
Mr Ellesmere spoke entirely in jest, and was exceedingly surprised when Cheriton answered seriously,—
“Indeed, I have thought so;” and then proceeded, at greater length than he had done with Jack, to unfold his project. He did not try to prepossess the vicar in its favour, nor touch on his home difficulties, save by saying that an idle life at Oakby would not suit him. He said plainly that he felt that only the peculiar circumstances of Elderthwaite, and his own independent means, could justify such a step in one who believed himself likely to have but little time and less strength before him. Would Mr Ellesmere explain the whole state of the case to the bishop, and ask—other matters being satisfactory—would he ordain him if the next spring he found himself capable of doing anything.
“And would this really content you, Cherry?” said Mr Ellesmere. “It would be clerical work in its most unattractive form, among, I should say, very unattractive people?”
“Not to me,” said Cheriton. “It would not be a distasteful life to me.”
“And then the climate here—”
“That the doctors shall decide next spring,” said Cherry, smiling.
“I don’t see my way to it, my boy,” said Mr Ellesmere, struck by his fragile look. “You must not run risks, and you would take responsibilities upon you which would make each particular risk seem unavoidable.” Cheriton evidently did not see his way to a reply. His face fell. The vivid, vigorous nature, checked at every turn, was ever striving after a fresh outlet. The instinct to be up and doing, to put his hand to everything that came to it, could not be stifled by loss and disappointment, or even by want of physical health and strength. After a pause he said, in an altered voice,—
“There are things that make it seem as if that did not much matter. I mean it is my own concern now. A short life and a busy one is better than a few more months, or years even, like mine.”