All day at the office he watched Benson with eyes that held a doglike devotion, and each time the lawyer called him to his side, he shuffled eagerly into his presence, thinking now surely he would say something; but it was never what he wanted to hear from his lips. The days wasted themselves and nothing was done.
Perhaps Benson would have found it difficult to explain his attitude had he felt called upon to do so. He was conscious that he had no wish to exert himself. He was strangely indifferent to the whole course of events. The thing that hurt him most was the realization that Virginia would never know why he had wronged her. She would probably go on to the end of her days, firm in the conviction that the money itself had been his sole object. He reverted more and more to the days of his generous love. In the light of his awakened memory, the present bore less and less upon him. He had yielded up a lifetime's devotion and had lost everything—love itself, reputation, the approval of his own conscience; and now he was to be exposed. In the end he would stand amidst the wreck of every purpose and hope.
He had even lost Stephen. The boy had developed character and determination where he had least expected him to display these qualities. He had desired him to be merely a gentleman. He smiled cynically. He had trained him better than he knew.
But if he carried his head high, and gave no sign of fear or shame or remorse, he was yet living under a terrible strain.
Gibbs noticed that his shaven cheeks were growing hollow, and that while on the street, or where he felt that he was being observed, he was as erect and active as ever; when they were alone together his shoulders drooped, the vigour seemed to leave him, and he moved slowly and wearily. He scarcely allowed Gibbs out of his sight. Each day he took him home to dine with him. These dinners were cheerless enough. Benson was invariably silent and absorbed in his own thoughts, and the general was permitted to drug himself with old port; and his usually careful host did not seem to be aware of the advantage he was taking of the situation.
Three weeks had now elapsed, and Gibbs befuddled but faithful and devoted, was spending the evening with his friend. They were sitting in the library over their wine and cigars. At last Benson glanced at the clock on the mantel, and rose slowly from his chair.
“You'd better go home, Gibbs,” he said. “It's late, and I don't think Julia likes your being kept out at all hours.”
“How do you feel, Jake?” asked Gibbs, rising too.
“How should I feel?” demanded the lawyer sharply. Then his manner softened. “It's very good of you to take care of me as you do, Gibbs. The evenings would be very lonely without you.” He rested his hand affectionately on the general's arm.
Gibbs was instantly on the verge of tears, he was so stirred by the other's gentleness and kindness.