And at one moment he understood her and at another he did not.
"Gaspare and I--we wished to spare you. And perhaps I wished to spare
myself. I think I did. I am sure I did. I am sure that was partly my
reason. I was secretly ashamed of my cowardice, my weakness in Africa;
and when I knew--no, when I guessed, for it was only that--what my
appeal to you had caused--all it had caused--"
He paused. He was thinking of Maurice's death, which must have been a
murder, which he was certain had been a murder.
"I hadn't--"
But the compelling voice from the darkness interrupted him.
"All?" it said.
He hesitated. Had she read his mind again?
"All?"
"The misery," he answered, slowly. "The sorrow that has lain upon your
life ever since."
"Did you mean that? Did you only mean that?"
"No."
"What did you mean?"
"I was thinking of his death," he replied.
He spoke very quietly. He was resolved to have no more subterfuges,
whatever the coward or the tender friend, or--the something else that
was more than the tender friend within him might prompt him to try to
hide.
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