“Oh no! don’t say any thing of the sort. I can imagine all that you would say. But tell me where you have been on this last visit?”
“Wandering like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none.”
“Have you been to London again?”
“Where have I not been?”
By this time they had seated themselves.
“My last journey,” said Despard, “like my former ones, was, of course, about the Brandon affair. You know that I have had long conversations with Mr. Thornton about it, and he insists that nothing whatever can be done. But you know, also, that I could not sit down idly and calmly under this conviction. I have felt most keenly the presence of intolerable wrong. Every day I have felt as if I had shared in the infamy of those who neglected that dying man. That was the reason why I wrote to Australia to see if the Brandon who was drowned was really the one I supposed. I heard, you know, that he was the same man, and there is no doubt about that. Then you know, as I told you, that I went around among different lawyers to see if any thing could be done. Nearly all asserted that no redress was possible. That is what Mr. Thornton said. There was one who said that if I were rich enough I might begin a prosecution, but as I am not rich that did me no good. That man would have been glad, no doubt, to have undertaken such a task.”
“What is there in law that so hardens the heart?” said Mrs. Thornton, after a pause. “Why should it kill all sentiment, and destroy so utterly all the more spiritual qualities?”
“I don’t think that the law does this necessarily. It depends after all on the man himself. If I were a lawyer, I should still love music above all things.”
“But did you ever know a lawyer who loved music?”
“I have not known enough of them to answer that. But in England music is not loved so devotedly as in other countries. Is it inconceivable that an Italian lawyer should love music?”