To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!
The wish was rather eager than lasting. He was roused from the reverie of retrospection and regret produced by it, by some inquiry from Edmund as to his plans for the next day's hunting; and he found it was as well to be a man of fortune at once with horses and grooms at his command. In one respect it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness where he wished to oblige. With spirits, courage, and curiosity up to anything, William expressed an inclination to hunt; and Crawford could mount him without the slightest inconvenience to himself, and with only some scruples to obviate in Sir Thomas, who knew better than his nephew the value of such a loan, and some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She feared for William; by no means convinced by all that he could relate of his own horsemanship in various countries, of the scrambling parties in which he had been engaged, the rough horses and mules he had ridden, or his many narrow escapes from dreadful falls, that he was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase; nor till he returned safe and well, without accident or discredit, could she be reconciled to the risk, or feel any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford for lending the horse which he had fully intended it should produce. When it was proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could allow it to be a kindness, and even reward the owner with a smile when the animal was one minute tendered to his use again; and the next, with the greatest cordiality, and in a manner not to be resisted, made over to his use entirely so long as he remained in Northamptonshire.
To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have seen and done as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such hardships. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, instead of what he was!
The wish was not lasting. He was roused from his regret by some inquiry from Edmund as to the next day's hunting; and he found it was as well to be a man of fortune with horses and grooms at his command. In one respect it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness to William, who expressed a wish to hunt. Crawford could mount him without inconvenience to himself, and with only some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She feared for William; by no means convinced by all that he could relate of his own horsemanship in various rough countries, that he was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase. Till he returned safe and well, she could not feel any gratitude to Mr. Crawford for lending the horse.
When it was proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could reward the owner with a smile. With the greatest cordiality, Mr Crawford gave William the horse for his use so long as he remained in Northamptonshire.