“I never loved him more than I have hated myself for my conduct towards him.”
“Let us talk of George,—he loved us both,” said Barrington, who still held Conyers by the hand. “It is a theme none but yourself can rival me in interest for.”
It was not easy for Conyers to attain that calm which could enable him to answer the other's questions; but by degrees he grew to talk freely, assisted a good deal by the likeness of the old man to his son,—a resemblance in manner even as much as look,—and thus, before they reached town again, they had become like familiar friends.
Barrington could never hear enough of George; even of the incidents he had heard of by letter, he liked to listen to the details again, and to mark how all the traits of that dear boy had been appreciated by others.
“I must keep you my prisoner,” said Barrington, as they gained the door of his hotel. “The thirst I have is not easily slaked; remember that for more than thirty years I have had none to talk to me of my boy! I know all about your appointment with Withering; he was to have brought you here this morning to see me, and my old friend will rejoice when he comes and finds us here together.”
“He was certain you would come up to town,” said Conyers, “when you got his letters. You would see at once that there were matters which should be promptly dealt with; and he said, 'Barrington will be my guest at dinner to-morrow.'”
“Eh?—how?—what was it all about? George has driven all else out of my head, and I declare to you that I have not the very vaguest recollection of what Wither-ing's letters contained. Wait a moment; a light is breaking on me. I do remember something of it all now. To be sure! What a head I have! It was all about Stapylton. By the way, General, how you would have laughed had you heard the dressing Withering gave me last night, when I told him I was going to give Stapylton a meeting.”
“A hostile meeting?”
“Well, if you like to give it that new-fangled name, General, which I assure you was not in vogue when I was a young man. Withering rated me soundly for the notion, reminded me of my white hairs and such other disqualifications, and asked me indignantly, 'What the world would say when they came to hear of it?' 'What would the world say if they heard I declined it, Tom?' was my answer. Would they not exclaim, 'Here is one of that fire-eating school who are always rebuking us for our laxity in matters of honor; look at him and say, are these the principles of his sect?'”
Conyers shook his head dissentingly, and smiled.