“I swear,” he said—“I swear that I will be a religious man, and that I will be a good squire to Oakby. I make it a vow if my brother recovers—”
“Oh, hush—hush!” interposed Cheriton. “If not—we shall meet again—and you must be good to Oakby. Let me know you will!”
“I will! I will!” cried Alvar, completely carried away. He would have thrown his arms round Cheriton, but Jack interposed—
“Alvar! Alvar! this is enough. He must not have this agitation.” Alvar yielded, but, too much overcome to control himself, rushed out of the room.
As he hurried blindly down the stairs he met Mr Ellesmere, and with a sudden impulse caught hold of his hand.
“Mr Ellesmere, you are a priest. I have sworn to him that I will change, that I will be religious. I give myself up to you. I will do whatever you wish. I swear to obey you—”
“Gently, gently!” said the astonished vicar. “You are too much agitated to know what you say. Come with me into the study; tell me what has passed. Believe me that I desire to help you in this great sorrow.”
Alvar followed him, and as Mr Ellesmere talked and listened to him, he began to hope that, in spite of an ignorance which he had hitherto had neither the conscientious desire nor the intellectual curiosity to diminish, in spite of blind impulses rashly followed, the will for good that must bring a blessing had at last been awakened, even in this strange longing for vow and penance, an instinct that seemed inherited without the faith from which it had sprung. Alvar was in the mood which might have made his Spanish ancestors vow all their worldly goods away and think to buy a blessing, and to listen to him without unduly checking his vehemence, and yet to lead his thoughts upward, was a hard task; since Alvar was left subdued and quieted, and yet with an inkling of what had been really wrong with him, it may be inferred that Mr Ellesmere succeeded better than he had hoped to do.
Meanwhile, to poor Jack, every word of Cheriton’s had thrilled with a thousand meanings. He knew that silence was imperative, and did not mean to say another word; but Cherry felt his hand tremble as he gave him some water, and looked up at him with a smile.
“You will have Gipsy soon,” he whispered, “my own dear boy.”