It was like a tonic of steel served from a pistol.
“We will—we do,” said Harry, forcing down his terror in one great gulp. “Dick, don’t be a fool!”
Some shame, I think, stiffened me. The debility of despair conceded a hope to the mere prospect of discussion. What a courage was this to succumb without an effort; to have reason, and yield it to the shadow falling before the fact!
“All right,” I muttered. “I’m an ass. Only let him tell us what we’re to do. He brought this on us, you know.”
He showed no resentment of my bitterness.
“Yes,” he said, in a strong quiet voice. “I brought this on you, Richard; for you warned me and I overruled your warning, being sceptical without knowledge, which is the boast of fools. The man was mad, and I thought to control him with reason, having failed in that as in everything else. Now accursed shall I be in the eyes of my co-trustee, your dear uncle.”
His mention of Uncle Jenico quite upset me again.
“O!” I cried violently, “what do you matter! If you drown, you’ve only yourself to thank. He would have stopped my going, but I wouldn’t tell him anything about it, because I thought it was nonsense to be afraid. And now he’ll wait and wait, and we shall never come, and it will break his heart.”
He stood before me, dripping wet, a most wretched, pathetic expression on his face. It was due less, I knew, to despair than to sorrow over my revolt against him. At the vision of it I was moved even against my will to remorse.
“Well,” I said miserably, “I don’t want to put all the blame on you, though you might have given me credit for a reason. You don’t know what we know about the man, or his interest in shutting our mouths. I ought to have told you, perhaps; but the secret was saving for another who has more right to it. It doesn’t matter now. We only want to get out of this—Mr. Pilbrow, do you hear? O, please think of something! There must be a way! To stand here, and——”