"And yet you call it selfishness, Henry. Man, man! you have deliberately gone about to save my life when another might have taken it!"
"I shall reap where I have sown," says Jeffard steadily. "Latterly I have been living for one day,—the day when I can take you back to her in the good hope that she will forget what has been for the sake of what I have tried to make possible."
Once more Lansdale's gaze is in the glowing heart of the fire, and the light in his eyes is prophetic.
"Verily, you shall reap, Henry; but not in a field where you have sown. Don't ask me how I know. That's my secret. But out of all this will come a thing not to be measured by your prefigurings. You shall have your reward; but I crave mine, too. Will you give it me?"
"If it be mine to give."
"It is. Do justice and love mercy, Henry. That is the thing I've been trying to find words to say to you all these weeks."
Jeffard lays the pipe aside and does not pretend to misunderstand.
"Tell me what you would like to have me do."
"I think you must know: find the man who drank of the bitter waters and went mad, and give him back that which you have taken from him."