‘A man finds such faith rarely,’ he said in his gentlest tone; ‘I hope he will prove worthy of it. But let him take his own way for the present; and should trouble come to him, I shall do my best to help him out of it.’
She made a quick movement, as if she would have clasped his hands in thankfulness, but checked herself.
‘Then I am content.’
‘I am glad you can say so, for it shows you have some confidence in me, and every proof of kindly thought towards me helps me.’
He stopped, and seemed to be smiling at the weakness which had made his voice a little husky. Looking back, and realising in this girl an old dream, she had grown so dear to him, that he knew if she had persisted, his wisest judgment would have yielded to her wish.
She wondered: why was this man so gentle and yet so cruel, as it seemed, in his doubts of Philip?
‘Let me take your hand,’ he resumed. ‘Thanks. Have you any notion how much it cost me to allow this piece of paper’ (he touched the pocket in which her mother’s letter lay) ‘to be out of my possession even for a few hours? Only you could have won that from me. It was the last token of ... well, we shall say, of her caring about me that came direct from her own hand. She was deceived. We cannot help that, you know—accidents will happen, and so on’ (like a brave man, he was smiling at his own pain). ‘The message came to me too late. I think—no, I am sure, that if she had said this to me with her own lips, there would have been no parting ... and everything would have been so different to us!’
Madge withdrew one hand from his and timidly placed it on his shoulder.
‘I am sorry for your past, and should be glad if it were in my power to help you to a happy future.’
His disengaged hand was placed upon her head lightly, as if he were giving her a paternal blessing.