“I wanted you together,” began Sir Roderick, “to tell you a few truths. I once believed in honest men.” He looked from one to the other; then gave a chuckle, and choked. When he recovered, he added, meaningly: “You, William, put an end to that. You made me wiser, much wiser.”
Lilia’s pale face flushed. Hugh met her glance of appeal, and turned away. What could he do?
Mr. Pym looked gravely at his brother; then, half-turning to the others, said:
“Pray, say what pleases you, Roderick; it will not hurt me.”
“You made a Diogenes of me,” went on Sir Roderick. “Well, at last, I found a man. This is the man—the rock I am leaning against to die!”
There was silence. Whatever Roderick or his father may have felt, they were silent; nor did they betray any emotion by glance or movement. But Lilia knelt down and kissed the cold hand lying on the bed. At that little spontaneous action Sir Roderick smiled, and Hugh began to believe that Lilia’s heart was his.
“I knew I was done for after the accident,” he went on; “but as I had found an honest man I didn’t mind. Where’s Mervyn?”
He roused himself, and struggled into a sitting posture.
“Don’t kneel there; fetch Mervyn, can’t you?” he said to Lilia, querulously.
“Fetch him,” said Hugh, pleadingly.