Volume Three--Chapter Twelve.
Revenge.
Edwin re-entered his home with a feeling of dismayed resignation. There was then no escape, and never could be any escape, from the existence to which he was accustomed; even after his father’s death, his existence would still be essentially the same—incomplete and sterile. He accepted the destiny, but he was daunted by it.
He quietly shut the front door, which had been ajar, and as he did so he heard voices in the drawing-room.
“I tell ye I’m going to grow mushrooms,” Darius was saying. “Can’t I grow mushrooms in my own cellar?” Then a snort.
“I don’t think it’ll be a good thing,” was Maggie’s calm reply.
“Ye’ve said that afore. Why won’t it be a good thing? And what’s it got to do with you?” The voice of Darius, ordinarily weak and languid, was rising and becoming strong.
“Well, you’d be falling up and down the cellar steps. You know how dark they are. Supposing you hurt yourself?”
“Ye’d only be too glad if I killed mysen!” said Darius, with a touch of his ancient grimness.
There was a pause.