CHAPTER LIX. WINGFOLD AND ARTHUR MANSON.
When the first delight of their meeting was abated, Simon sent to let Arthur Manson know that his brother was there. For Arthur had all this time been with Simon, to whom Richard, saving enough from his allowance, had prevented him from being a burden.
He looked much better, and was enchanted to see his brother again, and learn the good news of his recognition by his father. “I'm so glad it's you and not me, Richard!” he said. “It makes me feel quite safe and happy. We shall have nothing now but fair play all round, the rest of our lives! How happy Alice will be!”
“Is Alice still in the old place? I haven't heard of her for some time,” said Richard.
“Don't you know?” exclaimed Arthur. “She's been at the parsonage for months and months! Mrs. Wingfold went and fetched her away, to work for her, and be near me. She's as happy now as the day is long. She says if everybody was as good as her master and mistress, there would be no misery left in the world.”
“I don't doubt it,” answered Richard. “—But I've just parted with Mr. Wingfold, and he didn't say a word about her!”
“When anything has to be done, Mr. Wingfold never forgets it,” said Arthur; “but I should just like to hear all the things Mr. Wingfold did and forgot in a month!”
“Arthur's getting on.” thought Richard.
But he had to learn how much Wingfold had done for him. First of all he had set himself, by talking to him and lending him books, to find out his bent, or at least something he was capable of. But for months he could not wake him enough to know anything of what was in him: the poor fellow was weary almost to death. At last, however, he got him to observe a little. Then he began to set him certain tasks; and as he was an invalid, the first was what he called “The task of twelve o'clock;”—which was, for a quarter of an hour from every noon during a month, to write down what he then saw going on in the world.