This placed me in a difficult position. I knew, of course, that in a few
years Ernest would have many times over as much money as he had lost, but
I knew also that he did not know this, and feared that the supposed loss
of all he had in the world might be more than he could stand when coupled
with his other misfortunes.
The prison authorities had found Theobald's address from a letter in
Ernest's pocket, and had communicated with him more than once concerning
his son's illness, but Theobald had not written to me, and I supposed my
godson to be in good health. He would be just twenty-four years old when
he left prison, and if I followed out his aunt's instructions, would have
to battle with fortune for another four years as well as he could. The
question before me was whether it was right to let him run so much risk,
or whether I should not to some extent transgress my instructions--which
there was nothing to prevent my doing if I thought Miss Pontifex would
have wished it--and let him have the same sum that he would have
recovered from Pryer.
If my godson had been an older man, and more fixed in any definite
groove, this is what I should have done, but he was still very young, and
more than commonly unformed for his age.
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