“I suppose because he has not felt a sufficiently strong incentive. It is difficult to understand these things. But I cannot help believing he will make good.”
The old lady was manifestly unconvinced; but Esmé’s faith remained unshaken. She believed in the eventual triumph of Hallam’s better nature. The man was not insensible of her faith in him. Her influence over him was stronger than either of them realised. Each day he felt his interest in her deepening; but it was not until her visit came to the finish that he knew exactly what her friendship meant to him.
On the last morning when they sat at breakfast, and the talk turned naturally to the journey down the mountain, it came to him with unpleasant clearness that he was going to miss her very much. He saw the regret in her eyes at the thought of going away, and he knew that a similar regret was in his heart. They had come to the parting of the ways, and neither wished to part.
“Can’t you stay a little longer?” he asked her. But she shook her head and answered no.
“I hate these comings and goings,” he said gruffly; “they make life uncomfortable.”
“I loved the coming,” she replied softly; “but I hate going. I have been happy here.”
“I expect you are happy anywhere,” he said. And she laughed, but she did not answer him. “I shall miss our walks,” he added.
“I shall miss them to,” she replied. “I shall miss many things. One day I shall come up here again.”
“Will you?” He looked surprised. “I shall not do that after I go away. To revisit a familiar spot is like walking among tombstones. Each point recalls a memory, and memory belongs to the past.”
“But when one’s memories are pleasant,” she argued, “it is good to recall them.”