My guardian looked at me, waiting for what I had to say.
I had nothing to say. At least I had nothing in my mind that I could say. I had an undefined impression that it might have been better if we had had some other inmate, but I could hardly have explained why, even to myself. Or, if to myself, certainly not to anybody else.
“You see,” said my guardian, “our neighbourhood is in Woodcourt's way, and he can come here to see her as often as he likes, which is agreeable to them both; and she is familiar to us, and fond of you.”
Yes. That was undeniable. I had nothing to say against it, I could not have suggested a better arrangement; but I was not quite easy in my mind. Esther, Esther, why not? Esther, think!
“It is a very good plan indeed, dear guardian, and we could not do better.”
“Sure, little woman?”
Quite sure. I had had a moment's time to think, since I had urged that duty on myself, and I was quite sure.
“Good,” said my guardian. “It shall be done. Carried unanimously.”
“Carried unanimously,” I repeated, going on with my work.
It was a cover for his book-table that I happened to be ornamenting. It had been laid by on the night preceding my sad journey, and never resumed. I showed it to him now, and he admired it highly. After I had explained the pattern to him, and all the great effects that were to come out by-and-by, I thought I would go back to our last theme.
“You said, dear guardian, when we spoke of Mr. Woodcourt before Ada left us, that you thought he would give a long trial to another country. Have you been advising him since?”
“Yes, little woman; pretty often.”
“Has he decided to do so?”
“I rather think not.”
“Some other prospect has opened to him, perhaps?” said I.
“Why—yes—perhaps,” returned my guardian, beginning his answer in a very deliberate manner. “About half a year hence or so, there is a medical attendant for the poor to be appointed at a certain place in Yorkshire. It is a thriving place, pleasantly situated; streams and streets, town and country, mill and moor; and seems to present an opening for such a man. I mean, a man whose hopes and aims may sometimes lie (as most men's sometimes do, I dare say) above the ordinary level, but to whom the ordinary level will be high enough after all, if it should prove to be a way of usefulness and good service leading to no other. All generous spirits are ambitious, I suppose; but the ambition that calmly trusts itself to such a road, instead of spasmodically trying to fly over it, is of the kind I care for. It is Woodcourt's kind.”
“And will he get this appointment?” I asked.
“Why, little woman,” returned my guardian, smiling, “not being an oracle, I cannot confidently say; but I think so. His reputation stands very high; there were people from that part of the country in the shipwreck; and, strange to say, I believe the best man has the best chance. You must not suppose it to be a fine endowment. It is a very, very commonplace affair, my dear; an appointment to a great amount of work
