“Be a man, Brace,” said his father, in a low, earnest voice; and he stood for a few moments clasping his son’s hands in his own. “I, too, have suffered, Brace!”
“I know it—I know it!” said Brace, in the same sad, listless way, “and I’ll try and bear it; but oh! father, my heart feels desolate!”
“Come, I’m going to see how the works progress. You’ll go with me: to-morrow we’ll start early, and go away for a few days.”
Brace allowed his father to take his arm, and he walked with him mile after mile, listening, apparently, to his descriptions of the progress of the drain, till, evening drawing on, they came round by the old pine grove, crossed it at one end, where the evening breeze was sighing with a low, murmuring noise amidst the boughs over head—a sound as of waters breaking upon a distant shore.
In spite of Captain Norton’s efforts to be cheerful, he felt now that he had made a grievous mistake in the route he had chosen; for the solemn whisperings of the gloomy old pine wood had their influence even upon him; and, as his heart beat painfully, he shudderingly recalled the past. So strong were the impressions made by memory, that he had not a word to say in opposition when Brace gently disengaged his arm, and seated himself upon one of the fallen trunks, to bury his face in his hands. Captain Norton even felt that he could have followed his son’s example, as, like spectres of the past, came trooping by the thoughts and scenes of the bygone, as the old pine wood grew more and more dim and sombre, for the sun had just dipped below the distant horizon.
There was the old scene at the church porch; the encounter at the rectory; the walk over the moor; his madman’s acts; and, lastly, his awaking to the fact that the devoted woman who had followed him was lying bleeding at his feet—perhaps breathing her last sighs. Then came a change, and he saw again Marion, his old love, returned from abroad; the meeting in his own garden; the scene at the party; the disappearance of the cross; the blow stricken by Sir Murray Gernon; and, lastly, the news that Lady Gernon had, in one short hour, as it were, passed from this life. And now, here was his son—apparently persecuted by the same sad fate—crouching before him, heart-broken and despairing. What was in the future for them both?
He asked himself the question; and then, as if electrified, he started, and stood listening.
“What was that, Brace?” he cried, excitedly.
“Nothing but the men leaving work,” said the young man drearily.
“Nonsense!—rouse yourself!” cried the Captain, “and come on: there is something wrong. Hark at the hurried buzz of voices! The dam must have burst! Let us go.”