“You never spoke of this?” said Hugh.
“Oh, no. Hugh, have you ever been there?”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “often at first. It was better than thinking of it.”
“Will you come with me, and get it done? I think I could—with you.”
“Oh, my dear boy, I don’t think I ought to let you do that.”
“It would be over. But I don’t know— In the morning, when it looks different.”
“Yes, not now,” said Hugh, firmly. “See here, Arthur. I have guessed at these feelings of yours. I know too well how natural and inevitable they are. But Redhurst is no fit place for you just now, and I have a plan. Should you like to come back to the Bank House and stay there with me? I think it’s comfortable, and you could rest, and there would be no discussions about society, and no worries. If you could like to be alone with me?”
“I should like it very much,” said Arthur, decidedly. “I know I’m no good at home, but I cannot bear the thought of wandering about.”
“Well, then, shall we come back now? You are tired and shaken, and I will go and explain things at home.”
“Yes. Hugh, we shan’t rake up all these matters again; but I want to tell you, once for all, that you mistook my feeling about yourself. I need not say I never blamed you—how could I? But all this nervous folly can only belong to—to indifferent objects. You suffered too, only at first I could not think of that. But you do help me—you always know the right thing for me.”