“Well, it is all over; and I am going straight back to England.”
Harry felt so relieved that he forgot to be considerate: he could not repress his exultation.
“Is it really all over? I am so very glad!”
“And I am not sorry,” was the reply. The speaker probably persuaded himself that he was uttering the truth; but the dreary, hopeless expression of his stricken face gave his words the lie. It cut deep into Molyneux’s kind heart; he felt more painfully than he had ever done the difficulty of reconciling his evident duty with the demand of an ancient friendship; on the whole, a guilty consciousness of treachery predominated. He was discreet enough to forbear all questions, and it was not till long afterward that he heard an outline of part of what had happened in the past night; it was told in a letter from Miss Tresilyan to his wife. Had he been more inquisitive, his curiosity would scarcely have been gratified. To do Keene justice, he guarded the secrets of others more jealously than he kept his own: and he would have despised himself for revealing one of Cecil’s, even to his old comrade, without her knowledge and leave. If the feeling which prompted such reticence was not a high and delicate sense of honor, it was at least a very efficient substitute for a profitable virtue.
“You go to England?” Molyneux went on, after a brief pause. “When do you start? and what do you mean to do?”
Royston looked up, and saw his own discontent reflected in the countenance of his faithful subaltern; he knew he had found there the sympathy that he was too proud to ask of any living man.
“I start to-night,” he replied; “so you see I have no time to lose. I can hardly tell you what I mean to do, Hal. Do you remember what we said about the best way of spending our resources? Well—I have broken into my last large note; and I suppose I must get rid somehow of the change.”
Harry’s answer was not very ready, nor very distinct when it came. “I wish—I wish, I could help you!”
For one moment, there returned to Keene’s disciplined face a good, natural expression, which had been a stranger there since the days of his hot youth; when he first went forth to buckle 62 with the world—frank, and honest, and fearless; his voice, too, had softened almost to tenderness. “Old friend, the time has come to say good-by. Our roads have been the same—for longer than I like to think of: but henceforth they must lie so far apart, that I doubt if they will ever cross again. You will see me off, I know; but I may not be able to say then a dozen words that I should be sorry to leave unsaid. I’ll do you this justice—in no one instance have I ever seen you flinch when I wanted your help; though often you had no object of your own to serve. I believe no man ever had a cheerier comrade, or a better backer. I don’t like you the worse for standing aloof during the last five weeks. I never had one unpleasant word from you; but if any of mine have vexed or offended you—see now—I ask your forgiveness from the bottom of my heart.”
It is no shame to Harry’s manhood that he could not answer intelligibly; but ten sentences of elaborate sentiment would hardly have been so eloquent as the pressure of his honest hand.