So he left everything to his father and went back to Oxford.
* * * * *
Five-and-twenty miles from Grigsby is Limpus-on-the-Wold, which is, I believe, one of the very poorest parishes in all England. It is not only poor, but it is wide-spread. Its inhabitants are dense, and the work of its rector somewhat wearing. At the time of this unvarnished tale the rector of Limpus was Dr. Shotter, one of the most learned and pious clergymen in the Church. But care, ill-health, anxiety, and the death of his wife, had told on him. Moreover, he was an old man. He had completed his seventieth year, and now calmly waited an early call to the land of shadows, whither his wife had preceded him.
Worn to a mere skeleton, with a small hectic spot burning on his cheek and a hacking cough racking his frame, he sat at the open casement inhaling the heavy perfumes of a hot July afternoon. He was tended by his daughter, a staid woman of forty, who placed her hand on his forehead when the fit of coughing came, and handed him his draught, or spoke words of hope and encouragement, when the old man gave it as his opinion that the end was very near.
Then was heard the rattle of a heavy vehicle on the road, and presently a drag and four steaming greys drew up before the door of the rectory. A man of about fifty years of age descended from the box seat, entered the rectory garden, and in a few moments Dr. Shotter’s daughter was reading from a card the name of Sir Lionel de Stacy Bodkin, Bart.
The baronet was admitted, and by his fine, genial, hearty manner soon found his way into the good graces of the rector.
“Badly-drained unhealthy hole this,” he remarked with candour, alluding not to the house in particular but to Limpus generally.
The Doctor of Divinity nodded assent, and had a terrible fit of coughing.
“You must get out of it, my dear sir. The place is killing you. Limpus-on-the-Wold wants a young man with an iron constitution. You are an old man, but with many years of useful work before you.”
Dr. Shotter shook his head and avowed that he had but little interest in the life that now is, and made touching reference to another and a better country, an allusion which caused his daughter to weep.