Perhaps, if the truth were told, Rex was himself the noblest of the three. It is certain that he had suffered most, and he had assuredly suffered bravely, and fought against what he hated in himself with an earnestness and true-hearted purpose worthy of a good man. Hilda and Greif thought so, at least, as they walked slowly away from his room.
‘We have seen a strange and wonderful sight, my beloved,’ said Greif, as they came out together again upon the terrace. They had returned thither instinctively in order to be alone.
‘Wonderful indeed. Ah, Greif, you were right when you said that he was a grand man. I never thought that there were such men as that nowadays.’
‘And we were wrong to say that he was cold.’
‘You saw his hair! I was frightened when I thought of what he must have suffered, to make it change like that! Oh, Greif, is it my fault? Have I any fault in it? I should never rest again, if I thought so.’
‘What fault of yours can there be?’
‘Do you remember, long ago, on that day when you came to ask my mother, here, on this very terrace—I told you to speak to him?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘Perhaps it was vanity after all. Perhaps, if I had let him hate me, or dislike me, or whatever it was—all this might never have happened. It is my fault, it is, I know it is!’
‘No, darling—it is not. Things could not then have gone on as they were going, and we both did right. You heard his story—you know how truthful he is. He told us exactly what had happened to him, and he told us for that very reason, in order to make it clear that he had not known it all along, but had realised it suddenly, as he said he did. If he had guessed before that he was in danger of loving you he would not have stayed a day under our roof. But it came upon him all at once, and when it came upon him it was too strong, and too great.’