“I am sure you will. You seem to have a gift for it. And it is a rare one.”
“How seldom people really rejoice!” said Egbert. “There is usually an alloy.”
“There is one here,” said Ninian gravely. “It is nearer to me than to you. But my brother knows we would help it, if we could; that we will, if we can. And he will see the good that is to come. I will not disguise my debt.”
“Debts do meet another fate. But will he be content with the reward?”
“He will not deem it nothing. It is what he chose of what could be his.”
“He may feel that nothing can be his. Most people would in his place.”
“You are not my friend, my boy,” said Ninian, looking at him. “But it is your future in my mind as much as my own. Yours and your children’s children’s. I must not see you as a friend, but I am your father.”
There was a pause.
“I can only wish I could bear this moment for you, Egbert,” said Hugo.
“Yes, I take less thought for my descendants than their great-grandfather does.”
“Yes, turn it off easily,” said Ninian. “It is the thing to do. But I meant what I said.”
“That is why it was so awkward,” said Hugo. “It sounded as if you did.”
“We cannot be silent beyond a point. There could be no reason.”
“Well, you were not. But we can be up to a point.”
“You might both be boys,” said Ninian. “Your every word suggests it.”
“I see it is my place. And Ransom is doing nothing about it.”
“Your home will be safe as well as mine. My house is yours. But we are never grateful for a thing, when someone else has more of it.”
“What a day it has been!” said Hugo. “There is material for an epic. The fall of Lavinia; the return of Ransom; the uplift of Ninian; the tragedy of Ransom; the escape of Lavinia; the lament of Selina. I hope there will be no more.”
“And the lament of Egbert,” said Ninian, gently, looking at his son. “It has not been spoken, but it has not been unheard. My boy, I know what the day has been for you. I know how you felt to your sister.”
“As I now feel to her, Father. She has not failed me.”
“I wish I could feel the same and say it.”
“I wish you had said it. She encountered forces too strong for her. And you know what they were.”
Selina passed with a faltering tread, conscious of it, if not causing it. And as it died away another followed.
“It is only me, Mr. Middleton. Only I, I should say. I am late in leaving the scene of my efforts today.”
“That is what it has been, I fear. It is good of you to help us.”
“It is good to be needed. That should be enough.”
“Suppose I were in your place!” said Hugo. “And people needed me!”
“Ah, you have your word, Mr. Hugo. But you are there in case of need. And you know what is said of those who only stand and wait.”
“I do. And I feel I may suggest it. I suppose our fears about ourselves are always well founded.”
“Ah, they are great words, Mr. Hugo,” said Miss Starkie, yielding to the didactic spirit, as she went to the door. “And they would be, even if we did not know from whom they came.”
“And that is not true of all great words. How clever and disillusioned you are! I must remember to say it.”
“Stay for a moment, Miss Starkie,” said Ninian. “We have our word to say. Our reluctance to say it shows it must be said. We make our judgement in order to forget it. It must be what it is.”
“Yes, we must not evade it, Mr. Middleton. It is unworthy to shrink from the truth. If we faltered in our guidance, it is we who have failed. It is ourselves whom we judge.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, I feel it indeed. The words might be mine,” said Ninian, accompanying her to the hall. “It is a thing in which we must be at one.”
“So your father had to make a false claim,” said Hugo. “It seemed to come easily to him. How much practice has he had? Miss Starkie judged him by herself. His mind is a sealed book to her.”
“I wish it was to me. Why isn’t it, when so many minds are?”
“I hardly think Miss Starkie’s is. Anyhow she has unsealed it.”
“I am given both a better and a worse character than I deserve,” said Ninian, returning in a manner at once absent and constrained. “I am neither so generous in shouldering blame nor guilty of so much.”
“Why could you not say so?” said Hugo.
Ninian just raised his brows.
“People used to instructing cannot accept instruction. It would have been to waste words. But it is no tribute to anyone to shift the just blame.”
“But it lessens what does not take the form of tribute.”
Ninian moved his brows again and turned to find Teresa at his side.
“What does my wife think about it?”
“I liked what Miss Starkie said. Even if it is not the whole truth.”
“Ah, that would lead us into perilous ways. There would be danger for my poor Lavinia.”
“Not of a kind that mattered. Not compared to her losing her feeling for her father.”
“Oh, I don’t think that danger is very great,” said Ninian, with easy candour. “It was in that feeling that the danger lay.”
“You don’t take your daughter as seriously as you took her trouble.”
“I am advised by Miss Starkie that she is not responsible. I am not allowed to take her as I would choose. But perhaps I may be persuaded. I should naturally like to be.”
“I can’t understand why she felt so much for you.”
“Come, come, who should understand it but you? And why the past tense? Has she lost the feeling? Oh, no, I don’t think so. And all this is to be forgotten. And the feeling will return as we both forget.”
“I don’t follow this lighter treatment of a thing you took with such solemnity.”
“The solemnity was disapproved. And I don’t wonder, if that was the word. It was not, as you know. My trouble was real and remains so.”
“It seems to be less,” said his wife.
“Well, we do not cling to a sense of someone’s sin. We let it fade in its day. We will leave it and have an hour with my mother. Other things have a claim.”
“What things?” said Hugo, as the door closed. “Or rather what thing? Are you too sensitive to frame the thought?”
“I must be, because I dismissed it. Are you going to put it into words?”
“It is the promise of Ransom’s money. Everything pales beside it. And it is also a promise for you, and so for Lavinia.”
“For the distant future. It does nothing for her youth or mine. Nothing for her after my uncle’s death. What does she feel about living with him?”
“It is the alternative to being here, and being with her father. And to being with you and me. We did our best. And no one can do more. But that is a great pity.”
“If only we could identify ourselves with what she did!”
“Yes, we failed her there. And it was not a failure that was greater than success. And she did not think so.”
“What hours those have been! I shall welcome an ordinary day.”
“I shall not. I should have to make a habit of it. It is a pity so much has happened on one. It could have gone much further.”
“If it had not been for this, Uncle Ransom would have lived alone. That may have influenced him.”
“Yes, I saw him being influenced.”
“You see so much,” said Egbert.
“Yes, it has been my life work. And I can feel I have done it well.”
“Will Uncle Ransom leave anything to you?”
“I have asked myself that, as I could not ask him. No one thinks of my wanting anything. I never speak of it, as it is humbling to have needs that are not fulfilled. And people would wonder what I should do with money, if I had it. And I have had no chance to learn.”