At last he had told her all.
“Yes,” she said, “you have the power and the opportunity, and you will one day be among the foremost men of your generation.”
“I doubt it,” he said with a sigh. “I am not ambitious. I only work for the sake of work, not for what it will bring. One day I daresay that I shall weary of it all and leave it. But while I do work, I like to be among the first in my degree.”
“Oh, no,” she answered, “you must not give it up; you must go on and on. Promise me,” she continued, looking at him for the first time—“promise me that while you have health and strength you will persevere till you stand alone and quite pre-eminent. Then you can give it up.”
“Why should I promise you this, Beatrice?”
“Because I ask it of you. Once I saved your life, Mr. Bingham, and it gives me some little right to direct its course. I wish that the man whom I saved to the world should be among the first men in the world, not in wealth, which is an accident, but in intellect and force. Promise me this and I shall be happy.”
“I promise you,” he said, “I promise that I will try to rise because you ask it, not because the prospect attracts me; but as he spoke his heart was wrung. It was bitter to hear her speak thus of a future in which she would have no share, which, as her words implied, would be a thing utterly apart from her, as much apart as though she were dead.
“Yes,” he said again, “you gave me my life, and it makes me very unhappy to think that I can give you nothing in return. Oh, Beatrice, I will tell you what I have never told to any one. I am lonely and wretched. With the exception of yourself, I do not think that there is anybody who really cares for—I mean who really sympathises with me in the world. I daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a humiliating thing to say, and, in a fashion, a selfish thing. I never should have said it to any living soul but you. What is the use of being great when there is nobody to work for? Things might have been different, but the world is a hard place. If you—if you——”
At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it. Then there was a moment’s pause, and very gently she drew her hand away and thrust it in her bosom.
“You have your wife to share your fortune,” she said; “you have Effie to inherit it, and you can leave your name to your country.”