“Saved your life!” I exclaimed.
“Didn’t you!” he answered. “Didn’t you risk your own by letting go to reach me, when I might have pulled you down?”
“O, nonsense!” I cried, with a real laugh. “We should have both been in a bad way, I dare say, if Harry hadn’t had the sense to catch my foot. He towed us in. If there’s any credit it’s to him.”
“He did the resourceful thing, and you the brave,” persisted Joshua. “I owe to him through you; but to you first. If I live, I will honour that debt. If I am to die——”
“In good time, Mr. Pilbrow!” I cried reassuringly. “This little contest had flushed and rallied us all. “In good time! We aren’t going to give up, I can assure you, having come so far as this.”
“By God’s providence!” answered the ex-bookseller, with unwonted devoutness. “Only I feel that while I delay to tell you, the devil struggles to hale me into the deeps.”
“Out with it, then!” I said lightly, “and let’s crow to see him gnash his ugly teeth at being anticipated.”
I realized that he was about to give us the long-expected story, with a shadowy abstract of which he had only as yet tantalized me, and, through me, of course, Harry. Could we have had our curiosity satisfied under circumstances more tragically wet-blanketing? Yet there was a providence in that no less. The little sparks of inquisitiveness which survived in us, expanded in the revelation to flames of heat, which, in warming us, distracted our thoughts from our miseries. I will not believe this opportuneness was accidental. Mercy, in all the Committee of Destiny, is jealous to keep to herself the casting vote, I think.
His face fell; the evil shadow I knew darkened on it a moment; but almost in the same thought was gone. He wrung his lips with his hand, and heaved a profound sigh.
“Succeed, then,” he said, in a sad inspired voice, “succeed to the truth for which your father died; and God spare you to find your inheritance a rich one! If He will; if for your most loyal faith in me, dear child, I could so requite you, I could pass contented under the waters to the rest the land has denied me. I am weary, Richard; I am wearied to death; and to lie floating off my legs appears beatitude.”