He was not a morbid man, and he did not reproach himself for what had been unavoidable; for a man belongs more to the world than to his home; and his home ought not to throw any hindrance in his path of usefulness. But he told himself plainly that he had failed; that, satisfied if his children were well and happy, he had been content to go no further, and to remain in ignorance of all that Humphrey's simple words had disclosed.
He was filled with admiration for the generous nature which had borne so patiently to see another preferred, and had charmed away the feeling which had arisen sometimes, by the reflection, "It is quite fair."
He thought how the same circumstances acting upon a different temperament might have produced jealousy, discontent, and bitter feeling; the little brothers might have grown up to hate each other, and he would never have perceived it. And with an uncontrollable feeling he knelt down by the bedside, and covered the child with kisses.
Humphrey opened his eyes and smiled. "I was dreaming of mother," he said; "she was asking me if you had sent her any message."
"Tell her, my darling, how much I love you, and how sorry I am to let you go."
"So sorry to let me go," he repeated, with the old expression of triumph coming into his face; "and that you love me very much; as much as Miles, shall I say."
"As much as Miles," said Sir Everard.
"And that's quite true, father?"
"Quite true, my own precious child."