“Would you like to see my mother’s will, Hugo?” said Ninian. “And her message to you at the end?”
“No, I should find it too much. Such things go very deep with me.”
“Would anyone of whom that was true, say it?”
“I thought you did not know, Ninian. You did not mean to make a heartless suggestion.”
“I think I should show you the message. She meant you to see it.”
“But must not time elapse, before I face the familiar hand?”
“So you really find it a subject for jest?”
“It is my way of steeling myself against it. In these matters we are always misunderstood.”
Ninian left them and returned with the will, laid it on the library table and stood aside. For a time no one moved or spoke. Then Hugo went up and looked at it.
“Well?” said Ninian, after a pause.
“Well, it is just as you said it was.”
“You see it with your own eyes now?”
“I had seen it through yours. You had the power to bring it before me.”
“You can see my mother forcing herself to form the words.”
“Oh, no, I cannot. It would be too much.”
“The writing wrung my heart,” said Ninian.
“Why did you ask me to see it? So that my heart would be wrung?”
“I hoped it would be touched enough for the words to be their work.”
“Why only touched, when yours was wrung?”
“My words were the right ones,” said Ninian, and left the room.
He came on the children returning from the garden.
“Well, is the memorial complete?”
“We couldn’t make it stand,” said Hengist. “And Agnes made the epitaph just from herself and not from all of us.”
“Is there any need to have one?”
“Yes, or it would be a memorial to someone else.”
“Who had no name,” said Leah, “and only lived nineteen years.”
“That disposes of the matter. Is not Miss Starkie with you today?”
“No, it is her free afternoon. Grandma used to wonder why she wanted one.”
“To have a respite from the three of you. I do not share the wonder.”
“I daresay her life does need courage,” said Agnes, lifting her brows.
“Well, run upstairs and behave as if she was with you.”
“Nurse will be there,” said Leah. “We can’t be left alone. It has been proved.”
“You turn your eyes on yourselves. I hope you are pleased with what you see.”
The children laughed and ran to the stairs, Agnes chancing to drop a piece of paper as she went. Ninian picked it up.
‘In memory of Selina, beloved and loving grandmother of Agnes Middleton, who died on the—’
His daughter paused and turned, and he let the paper fall and re-entered the library.
“Should not Hugo and Lavinia sometimes be left to themselves?” he said in a cold tone. “If their relation is accepted, it should be observed. Are you not too often with them?”
His wife and son rose and followed him, and the two were alone.
“So we shall never be forgiven,” said Lavinia. “It will work itself into our lives.”
“Further into his. He is planning it himself. He will lose the most.”
“I believe he is trying to serve me. He is honest in part of what he says.”
“What right has he to judge? Has he used you so well? You have not thought so. And I have always been with you. Always, as you remember.”
“At the time of the letter do you mean?”
“Well, at all times.”
“I think you loved the sinner and hated the sin.”
“I could hate nothing of yours. In any place of yours I see myself. But we who have had nothing, want the most. We know what it is to be without. And it has all to be put into so short a time. You may be right in what you say. Your father sees a part of the truth.”
CHAPTER XIII
“Egbert, I shall never say it,” said Hugo. “You would not believe me, if I did. It may be no good to try.”
“If you mean me to believe it, you can do your best.”
“Tell me the most unlikely thing you can think of.”
“That Father will make over everything to me. That you will marry Miss Starkie. That he will countenance your marrying Lavinia. That you will give up the idea.”
“Say no more, Egbert.”
“What do you mean? What is it?”
“What you have said. You see I could not say it.”
“You are not going to marry Lavinia! Has she changed her mind?”
“Well, she does not know about it. People do not know their own minds. You will bring her to the knowledge.”
“You have changed yours? What are you trying to say?”
“I have tried in vain. The words will not pass my lips. I can’t forget that you will hear them.”
“Say what you have to. I am waiting to hear.”
“Egbert, a note of reproach is creeping into my tone. Is it like you to make things harder for me? And you did not wish me to be nearer to you. I could not feel I had a true welcome.”
“That may be so. But it is another matter. Tell the simple truth.”
“Well, I cannot bear to be a son to your father. Or bear Lavinia to be a daughter to him. It would keep me in his power. And I have the chance to escape. Your grandmother was a great woman. I should like to be Dickens, so that I could be unrestrained about her.”
“What would he say about Lavinia?”
“That she had come to know her own heart, and feel her father came first to her.”
“Have you no deeper reason?”
“Yes, but it is difficult to make it sound deep. I want to feel my independence and indulge my selfish, bachelor tastes. I don’t think it does sound so. You would never believe how deep it is. Perhaps you have not sounded my depths.”
“Have you spoken to Lavinia?”
“No, of course I have not. It would be behaving like a man. She will speak to me through you.”
“You will speak for yourself. It is time you did behave like one.”
“Egbert, it is a thing I have never done. And no one could do it without practice. You are experienced in what you have to do. You know you have done it many times. You did not want me as a brother.”
“I find I want you less in your present character.”
“Well, you will be rid of me. You will speak to your sister about being wise while there is time. What has been done can be done again.”
“She would not listen to me. The result is always the same.”
“Egbert, have you been disloyal to me? I think you owe me some amends.”
“You owe this to yourself.”
“Why do we owe such things to ourselves? Restitution and confession and others of the kind? They are what we owe to other people. I owe myself some ease and freedom before it is too late. You must see it is late enough. No doubt you despise me for it.”
“Are you wasting your pathos on me?”
“You know that nothing should be wasted. You must let it do its work.”
“Have you lost your feeling for Lavinia?”
“No, but I have so much for myself. Even more than I knew. And I have such a small nature. I should be jealous of her father and of Teresa and of you. And how could I be a husband? He has to be the mainstay of a household.”
“You must have seen yourself as one.”
“No, I saw myself escaping with Lavinia. And the thought filled my mind to the exclusion of any other. So that is a thing that can happen.”
“And the thought failed to hold its place?”
“I can say nothing. I know it is just. And I don’t expect justice tempered with mercy. I have only seen that mercy is tempered with justice. I think people get confused.”
“I don’t understand the sudden change.”