It came to his mind in the quiet stillness how in just such a crisis as this, when he was not at hand to help the same cruel passion had wrought the irrevocable havoc with his son’s life. He looked at the dark head pressed on the pillows and remembered his young wife’s half-laughing pride in her first-born’s copper coloured aureole of hair. He recollected the day he had first held him in his arms, himself but just arrived at man’s estate, and this helpless little baby given into his power and keeping. He had done his best: God knows how humbly he confessed that more than truthful Truth, yet even all his love had failed to save that little red-haired baby from this ... jealousy, cruel as the grave! Perhaps he had been too young a father to deal with it at first. Was it his failure or were there greater forces behind—the forces of ages of other failures for which poor Aymer paid....
Aymer moved till his head rested against his father’s arm, like a tired child. Presently he looked up rather shamefacedly. 263
“It’s over. What a fool I’ve been. Don’t tell Christopher, father.”
A faint reflection of what Aymer considered his own terrible monopoly, caught poor St. Michael for a fleeting moment, a jealous pang that his son’s first thought must go to the boy. He realised suddenly he was tired out and old, and got to his feet stiffly.
Aymer gave him a quick, penetrating glance.
“Send Vespasian back, father,” he said abruptly, “and you go to bed. What a selfish brute I’ve been.” And when Mr. Aston had bidden him good-night he added in the indifferent tone in which he veiled any great effort, “If Peter should want Christopher to stay longer, you might tell him to come back—it doesn’t pay to be so proud—and I’ll apologise to Vespasian.”
“He’s worth it,” said Mr. Aston with a smile, “he and I are getting old, Aymer.”
“Negatived by a large majority, sir,” he answered quickly.
It was not of Christopher he thought in the silent hours of the night, and Mr. Aston’s brief jealousy would have found no food on which to thrive had it survived its momentary existence.
When Mr. Aston came down in the morning the first sight that met his astonished eyes was Christopher, seated at the breakfast table and attacking that meal with liberal energy. He sprang up as Mr. Aston entered.