‘I know, my dear,’ he replied, pressing my arm, ‘I know all that. You mustn’t mind my being a little soft now, for I have had all this upon my mind for a long time; and have often meant to speak to you, and have sometimes wanted opportunity and sometimes courage. I know what the thought of Ada ought to do for me, but it doesn’t do it. I am too unsettled even for that. I love her most devotedly; and yet I do her wrong, in doing myself wrong, every day and hour. But it can’t last for ever. We shall come on for a final hearing, and get judgment in our favour; and then you and Ada shall see what I can really be!’

It had given me a pang to hear him sob, and see the tears start out between his fingers; but that was infinitely less affecting to me, than the hopeful animation with which he said these words.

‘I have looked well into the papers, Esther — I have been deep in them for months,’ he continued, recovering his cheerfulness in a moment, ‘and you may rely upon it that we shall come out triumphant. As to years of delay, there has been no want of them, Heaven knows! and there is the greater probability of our bringing the matter to a speedy close; in fact, it’s on the paper now. It will be all right at last, and then you shall see!’

Recalling how he had just now placed Messrs Kenge and Carboy in the same category with Mr Badger, I asked him when he intended to be articled in Lincoln’s Inn.

‘There again! I think not at all, Esther,’ he returned with an effort. ‘I fancy I have had enough of it. Having worked at Jarndyce and Jarndyce like a galley slave, I have slaked my thirst for the law, and satisfied myself that I shouldn’t like it. Besides, I find it unsettles me more and more to be so constantly upon the scene of action. So what,’ continued Richard, confident again by this time, ‘do I naturally turn my thoughts to?’

‘I can’t imagine,’ said I.

‘Don’t look so serious,’ returned Richard, ‘because it’s the best thing I can do, my dear Esther, I am certain. It’s not as if I wanted a profession for life. These proceedings will come to a termination, and then I am provided for. No. I look upon it as a pursuit which is in its nature more or less unsettled, and therefore suited to my temporary condition — I may say, precisely suited. What is it that I naturally turn my thoughts to?’

I looked at him, and shook my head.

‘What,’ said Richard, in a tone of perfect conviction, ‘but the army!’

‘The army?’ said I.

‘The army, of course. What I have to do, is, to get a commission; and — there I am, you know!’ said Richard.

And then he showed me, proved by elaborate calculations in his pocket-book, that supposing he had contracted, say two hundred pounds of debt in six months, out of the army; and that he contracted no debt at all within a corresponding period, in the army — as to which he had quite made up his mind; this step must involve a saving of four hundred pounds in a year, or two thousand pounds in five years — which was a considerable sum. And then he spoke, so ingenuously and sincerely of the sacrifice he made in withdrawing himself for a time from Ada, and of the earnestness with which he aspired — as in thought he always did, I know full well — to repay her love, and to ensure her happiness, and to conquer what was amiss in himself, and to acquire the very soul of decision, that he made my heart ache keenly, sorely. For, I thought how would this end, how could this end, when so soon and so surely all his manly qualities were touched by the fatal blight that ruined everything it rested on!

I spoke to Richard with all the earnestness I felt, and all the hope I could not quite feel then; and implored him, for Ada’s sake, not to put any trust in Chancery. To all I said, Richard readily assented; riding over