Barbara had been interrupted in her meditations, so was Jasper. As he stood lost in a painful dream, but with a dew from heaven falling on his parched soul, suddenly he was startled out of his abstraction by a laugh and an exclamation at his elbow.
‘Well, Jasper, composing verses to the weak-eyed Leah or the blue-orbed Rachel?’
‘What brings you here, Watt?’ asked Jasper, disguising his annoyance.
‘Or, my sanctimonious fox, are you waiting here for one of the silly geese to run to you?’
‘You have come here bent on mischief,’ said Jasper, disdaining to notice his jokes.
The evening, the still scene, the solitary platform raised so high above the land beyond, had seemed holy, soothing as a church, and now, at once, with the sound of Walter’s voice, the feeling was gone, all seemed desecrated.
‘Watt,’ said Jasper, sternly, ‘you sent me away to Buckfastleigh by a lie. Why did you do that? It is utterly false that my father is ill and dying.’
‘Is it so? Then I dreamed it, Jasper. Morning dreams come true, folks say. There, my brother, you are a good, forgiving fellow. You will pardon me. The fact is that Martin and I wanted to know how matters went at home. I did not care to go myself, Martin could not go, so—I sent you, my good simpleton.’
‘You told me a lie.’
‘If I had told you the truth you would not have gone. What was that we were taught at school? “Magna est veritas, et prævalebit.” I don’t believe it; experience tells me the contrary. Long live lies; they win the day all the world over.’