She looked, as she stood silent, as if with another word her self-control would break down into passionate grief, but the moment passed, and she recovered her usual manner, as she repeated her promise to come to-morrow morning. Her troubled look dwelt in Sylvester’s mind. Had the old love woke again in tender pity, and were they breaking her heart once more with this recall of the past? But this time Sylvester did not understand her, and tormented himself in vain.
She came on the next day, punctual to the moment, very grave and quiet, and perfectly calm.
Lucian had been resting all the morning, and now lay on his couch under the verandah, while Mrs Leigh greeted Amethyst, and set a chair for her close by, within easy reach of his eyes and voice, then with hardly a word she left them.
“Amethyst,” said Lucian, “you know I’m going to die, and you, I suppose, will have a long life. I want to take the pain out of your thoughts of me, so that when you think of those days when we were engaged to each other, it may be pleasant to you, as if we’d had a good time when we were children.”
Amethyst looked at him, but she could not speak.
“I never ought to have lost patience with a girl like you, and I ought to have known you better. But I was too young and stupid, it was a dreadful thing to me when I knew I had wronged you—had been so wrong—and couldn’t make up for it. And when I saw you again, I knew I had never thought enough of you, though I loved you so much.”
“Oh, Lucian—no—”
“If we’d married, I suppose I should have learned in time. But I should have made mistakes and vexed you, I wasn’t fit to guide you. I should always have thought I knew best Well, then, you see it has all been for the best, and I want to tell you, that if I hadn’t had the loving, and the getting to understand you, and the trying to get on without you, it would have been much worse for me now. And so, as that poor little old time has helped me to die better, it seemed to me that perhaps the thought of it might make your life better for you—at least to know what you have done for me.”
“Oh, Lucian, that’s not quite it. Why was I such a wicked girl as to forget you? It wasn’t because I was angry. If I had been faithful too—you might—we might—”
“No, dear,” said Lucian. “That’s what I want to show you. You couldn’t—you wanted more than I had got to give you. That’s what I found out. You’ll have it some day, and then you won’t feel I did you nothing but harm.”