When we think that to these important services were added hourly kindnesses, most acceptable in the intercourses of social life; when we remember that where Charles was, there was cheerfulness, kindness, an open heart, a quick eye, and a ready hand to do good; we shall not wonder that he was beloved, though poor, and respected, though humble. Mr Rathbone was not, could not be, aware of all these things, but he heard Charles speak of the kindness that he experienced, and then it was easy to guess that it was earned by kindness shewn.
“I forget,” said he, “how long it is exactly, since you came to London.”
“Two years next month, Sir.”
“And have you not seen your sisters in all that time?”
“No, Sir; nor have I any near prospect of seeing them. I do not venture to wish it, for fear of growing discontented. The girls are happy, and so am I; and we do not repine because we cannot reach an unattainable pleasure.”
“I will try, Charles, whether it be unattainable. Two years of industry and self-denial deserve a reward. I will call on Mr Gardiner to-morrow, and beg for a fortnight’s holiday for you. If I can obtain it, we will send you down to Exeter in a trice.”
Charles’s gratitude was inexpressible. In spite of his struggles, the tears started from his eyes. In a moment, his home and its beloved inmates rose up to his memory, and awakened his affections with an energy and vividness which he had never experienced before, in the deepest of the many reveries in which they had been presented to his fancy. Mr Rathbone understood his feelings, and so little doubted of being able to obtain this favour, that he tried to work up still more the ecstasy of hope which he had excited. “I have no doubt Mr Gardiner will spare you, Charles: you can be off by to-morrow night’s coach.”
But Charles had not so far forgotten common things in his joy, as to be unmindful that Jane would lose half the pleasure of his visit, if it was paid while she was engaged for the greater part of the day with her pupils. He knew that she was to have a fortnight’s holiday at Midsummer, and he felt that it would be but justice to her, and the best economy of pleasure for himself, to defer his visit till that time, if possible. He did long, to be sure, to be off at once, and to take them by surprise, and he was afraid the intervening month would appear dreadfully long; but he felt that this was childish. He stated the case to Mr Rathbone, and begged that the request might be for the last week of June and the first of July.
He was much surprised to see a dark cloud pass over Mr Rathbone’s brow while this explanation was being made: he could not believe it caused by any thing he had said, and therefore took no notice of it. The reply was, “It is not likely, Sir, that Mr Gardiner should let you choose your own time. I will mention it, however, and see what he says. I suppose you will not refuse to go now, if you cannot be spared afterwards?”
Poor Charles said what he thought best; but he was so astonished and grieved to have given offence, that his words did not come very readily. He tried in vain to forget Mr Rathbone’s look and words; but, in spite of himself, he could not help endeavouring to account for what was unaccountable, and watching his benefactor’s looks with intense anxiety.