The answer came immediately in a low emphatic tone—“No.”
In the mingled emotions which followed that answer it was impossible to distinguish joy from pain.
Some new light had fallen on the past for Sir Hugo too in this interview. After a silence in which Deronda felt like one whose creed is gone before he has religiously embraced another, the baronet said, in a tone of confession,
“Perhaps I was wrong, Dan, to undertake what I did. And perhaps I liked it a little too well—having you all to myself. But if you have had any pain which I might have helped, I ask you to forgive me.”
“The forgiveness has long been there,” said Deronda “The chief pain has always been on account of some one else—whom I never knew—whom I am now to know. It has not hindered me from feeling an affection for you which has made a large part of all the life I remember.”
It seemed one impulse that made the two men clasp each other’s hand for a moment.
BOOK VII.—THE MOTHER AND THE SON
CHAPTER L.
“If some mortal, born too soon,
Were laid away in some great trance—the ages
Coming and going all the while—till dawned
His true time’s advent; and could then record
The words they spoke who kept watch by his bed,
Then I might tell more of the breath so light
Upon my eyelids, and the fingers warm
Among my hair. Youth is confused; yet never
So dull was I but, when that spirit passed,
I turned to him, scarce consciously, as turns
A water-snake when fairies cross his sleep.”
—BROWNING: Paracelsus.
This was the letter which Sir Hugo put into Deronda’s hands:,