My lord swore one of his large oaths that he did not know in the least what she meant.
“I intend it for Harry Esmond to go to college.—Cousin Harry,” says my lady, “you mustn't stay longer in this dull place, but make a name to yourself, and for us too, Harry.”
“D——n it, Harry's well enough here,” says my lord, for a moment looking rather sulky.
“Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will go away?” cry out Frank and Beatrix at one breath.
“But he will come back: and this will always be his home,” cries my lady, with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness: “and his scholars will always love him; won't they?”
“By G——d, Rachel, you're a good woman!” says my lord, seizing my lady's hand, at which she blushed very much, and shrank back, putting her children before her. “I wish you joy, my kinsman,” he continued, giving Harry Esmond a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I won't balk your luck. Go to Cambridge, boy; and when Tusher dies you shall have the living here, if you are not better provided by that time. We'll furnish the dining-room and buy the horses another year. I'll give thee a nag out of the stable: take any one except my hack and the bay gelding and the coach-horses; and God speed thee, my boy!”
“Have the sorrel, Harry; 'tis a good one. Father says 'tis the best in the stable,” says little Frank, clapping his hands, and jumping up. “Let's come and see him in the stable.” And the other, in his delight and eagerness, was for leaving the room that instant to arrange about his journey.
The Lady Castlewood looked after him with sad penetrating glances. “He wishes to be gone already, my lord,” said she to her husband.
The young man hung back abashed. “Indeed, I would stay for ever, if your ladyship bade me,” he said.
“And thou wouldst be a fool for thy pains, kinsman,” said my lord. “Tut, tut, man. Go and see the world. Sow thy wild oats; and take the best luck that Fate sends thee. I wish I were a boy again that I might go to college, and taste the Trumpington ale.”