‘But for him,’ she went on, ‘I could have done nothing. I—a woman, could have done nothing to any purpose.’
She looked from one to the other of them earnestly, imploringly, and still there was silence; till at last she sat down at the table, rested her arms upon it, and leaning forward said, first to one and then to the other—
‘Michael, you have spent your strength and your time this day in helping those who have never done you any good, in trying to save them from the effects of their sins, at least. And you, Gilbert, have come promptly here on no selfish errand. At my call you have come quickly to help me, who have no claim at all upon you. So good, and so considerate and helpful to others, will you go on hating each other; will you not be brothers again?’
The two men were looking into each other’s eyes, and Michael at last knew what that strange, potent sensation had been, which had shaken him on encountering Gilbert’s look that night, when they had been almost side by side at the concert-room. Not hate, not resentment, as he had fancied; neither one nor the other; but his old love for his brother, the ancient, inborn love, which not all the anger, enmity, and bitterness had succeeded in quenching. And the voice which addressed them both, went on speaking still, earnestly, tremulously, with passionate conviction—
‘If but one good thing came out of all this blackness, would it not be better than nothing—nothing but sin and sorrow? And there is so much grief and so much wrong in the world, that if men had not forgiveness to fight them with, I do not see how there could be any chance for happiness at all.’
There was another little pause. At last Gilbert said, in a low voice—
‘I never hated him——’
Without quite knowing how, they found their hands clasped, each in one of the other’s, and Michael said, ‘Shall it be all over, Gilbert?’
‘From the bottom of my heart.’
‘Then let us say no more about it.’