"You know—I have been wandering over the earth—since—that day," Rupert went on, speaking with singular abruptness. "I felt like that man who went out, seeking rest—and finding none. I have found none."
The ring of bitterness in his voice hurt the girl. She turned a little, and looked down into his face.
"I am sorry," she said; "so very sorry."
"Are you?" he answered. "It is not worth while being sorry for a man who has made a mess of things, as I have done."
"Why do you say that," she said quickly. "You made the most of a beautiful friendship; you did Aunt Margaret no wrong in loving her. You were always her helpful friend. And now——"
"Now?" he echoed when she paused.
"Perhaps you will think me impertinent for saying what I was going to say," she answered, the colour creeping into her face; "but I was going to say, now you will not waste your life, in regretting what is past and over. You are not the sort of person to waste life in regrets. I should think you would take all the best of the love and friendship, and work them into your life, to make it better."
The words were as simply spoken, as they were simple in themselves. Their very simplicity made an appeal to the man who heard them, for, like all the best men, Rupert, man of the world though he was, had a very simple nature.
"Weave the past into the future," he answered thoughtfully. "Not sweep it away and try to forget it, but let it be woven into my life? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes, that is what I mean, only you have put it into better words. I never think it is quite right to try and sweep away a past, even if it has hurt us. It always seems as if it must be so much better to use all that was good in the past, and let it help to make the future better. I don't think I believe in stamping things out, and burying them, and being ruthless over them. Isn't it better to take the good from them, and bury the rest?"