‘I am glad of that, my boy. The fear did cross my mind for a moment that you might be inclined to take to the Church as a profession, which seems to me the worst kind of infidelity. A thousand times rather would I have you doubtful about what is to me the highest truth, than regarding it with the indifference of those who see in it only the prospect of a social position and livelihood. Have you any plan of your own?’
‘I have heard,’ I answered, circuitously, ‘that many barristers have to support themselves by literary work, for years before their own profession begin to show them favour. I should prefer going in for the writing at once.’
‘It must be a hard struggle either way,’ he replied; ‘but I should not leave you without something to fall back upon. Tell me what makes you think you could be an author?’
‘I am afraid it is presumptuous,’ I answered, ‘but as often as I think of what I am to do, that is the first thing that occurs to me. I suppose,’ I added, laughing, ‘that the favour with which my school-fellows at Mr Elder’s used to receive my stories is to blame for it. I used to tell them by the hour together.’
‘Well,’ said my uncle, ‘that proves, at least, that, if you had anything to say, you might be able to say it; but I am afraid it proves nothing more.’
‘Nothing more, I admit. I only mentioned it to account for the notion.’
‘I quite understand you, my boy. Meantime, the best thing in any case will be Oxford. I will do what I can to make it an easier life for you than I found it.’
Having heard nothing of Charley Osborne since he left Mr Forest’s, I went one day, very soon after my return, to call on Mr Elder, partly in the hope of learning something about him. I found Mrs Elder unchanged, but could not help fancying a difference in Mr Elder’s behaviour, which, after finding I could draw nothing from him concerning Charley, I attributed to Mr Osborne’s evil report, and returned foiled and vexed. I told my uncle, with some circumstance, the whole story: explaining how, although unable to combat the doubts which occasioned Charley’s unhappiness, I had yet always hung to the side of believing.
‘You did right to do no more, my boy,’ said my uncle; ‘and it is clear you have been misunderstood--and ill-used besides. But every wrong will be set right some day.’