She had a flash of metaphor, and saw in it the meeting of the old and new religions; the type of these two men, of whom the light of one was fading, and the other waxing. The candlelight fell full on Ralph’s face that stood out against the whitewashed wall behind.
Then she listened and watched with an intent interest.
“It is this,” said Sir James, “we heard you were here—”
Ralph smiled with one side of his mouth, so that his father could see it.
“I do not wish to do anything I should not,” went on the old man, “or to meddle in his Grace’s matters—”
“And you wish me not to meddle either, sir,” put in Ralph.
“Yes,” said his father. “I am very willing to receive you and your wife at home; to make any suitable provision; to give you half the house if you wish for it; if you will only give up this accursed work.”
He was speaking with a tranquil deliberation; all the emotion and passion seemed to have left his voice; but Mary, from behind, could see his right hand clenched like a vice upon the knob of his chair-arm. It seemed to her as if the two men had suddenly frozen into self-repression. Their air was one of two acquaintances talking, not of father and son.
“And if not, sir?” asked Ralph with the same courtesy.