Enough of that.  It being quite clear to me that I simply could not go in for the examination, I hit upon another scheme; one, it seemed to me, which might not altogether displease you.  I went to see Mr. Tadworth, and told him that I had decided to go back into business; could he, I asked, think of giving me a place in their office at Odessa?  If necessary, I would work without salary till I had thoroughly learned Russian, and could substantially serve them.  Well, Mr. Tadworth was very kind, and, after a little questioning, promised to send me out to Odessa in some capacity or other, still to be determined.  I am to go in about ten days.

“This, father, is my final decision.  I shall give myself to the business, heartily and energetically.  I think there is no harm in telling you that I hope to make money.  If I do so, it will be done, I think, honourably, as the result of hard work.  I had better not see you; I should be ashamed.  But I beg you will write to me soon.  I hope I shall not have overtried your patience.  Bear with me, if you can, and give me the encouragement I value.”

Jerome pondered long.  He looked anything but displeased:  there was tenderness in his smile, and sympathy; something, too, of pride.  Very much against his usual practice, he wrote a reply the same day.

“So be it, my dear lad!  I have no fault to find, no criticism to offer.  Your letter is an honest one, and it has much moved me.  Let me just say this:  you rightly doubt whether you should call yourself unlucky.  If, as I can imagine, the daughter of Dr. Derwent is a girl worth your homage, nothing better could have befallen you than this discovery of your ‘ideal.’  Whether you will be faithful to be faithful to it, the gods alone know.  If you can be, even for a few ears of youth, so much the happier and nobler your lot!

“Work at money-making, then.  And, as I catch a glimmer of your meaning in this resolve, I will tell you something for your comfort.  If you hold on at commerce, and verily make way, and otherwise approve yourself what I think you, I promise that you shall not lack advancement.  Plainly, I have a little matter of money put by, for sundry uses; and, if the day comes when something of capital would stead you (after due trial, as I premise), it shall be at your disposal.

“Write to me with a free heart.  I have lived my life perchance I can help you to live yours better.  The will, assuredly, is not wanting.

“Courage, then!  Pursue your purpose—­

    ’Con l’animo che vince ogni battaglia,
     Se col suo grave corpo non s’accascia.’

“And, believe me that you could have no better intimate for leisure hours than the old Florentine, who knew so many things; among them, your own particular complaint.”

CHAPTER X