The effects of alternate hope and fear ending at last in despair deepened by remorse.
Mr. Cave sat down beside him and essayed to comfort him; but he did not succeed. Loss, sorrow and disappointment may be consoled, but remorse and despair are beyond comfort.
“The truest, gentlest, fondest child that ever blessed man I drove out that bitter night to meet her cruel death! It is that which is killing me,” he said, in reply to Mr. Cave’s well meant efforts to rouse and cheer him.
“You are morbid, Hereward. You are too severe on yourself. You are not rational and consistent. You should remember, my dear friend, you did not mean to drive her away.”
“Ah, but the taunting, insulting, unpardonable words I hurled at her, heaped upon her head, overwhelming her—no true woman could have borne them! If she had been the creature I suspected and accused her of being, she might have borne them and remained here for profit; but Lilith had no alternative but to leave the house! And I drove her from it as surely as if I had taken her by the shoulders and put her out and turned the key against her!”
“I do not think you should consider it in that light. Besides, for the words you used, you would do wisely to remember now the provocation you received,” gravely suggested Mr. Cave.
“Not from her! Not from Lilith! She was ever true, meek, gentle and wonderfully self-controlled for a being so young. No! I never received provocation from that child,” said Hereward, with a deep sigh.
“Then from false appearances!—false appearances which would have driven a much older and wiser man than you quite beside himself.”
“But against which I should have set Lilith’s life and character then—as I do now. No, Mr. Cave, you need not talk to me of comfort. I will not receive it!”
“Ah, Tudor, you hug, cherish, and cultivate your sorrow.”