“You always knew that you were hurting yourself by what you did; but that did not check you,” went on Radlett. “You had, I remember, a creed of ethics in which, so you said, you logically believed. You know how much good that has done you.
“Steve, I am as sorry for you as if you were myself—yes, sorrier.” In the intensity of their grasp, his fingers almost crushed Loring’s shoulder. “I know what it seems to you, the feeling of guilt, and of remorse; but you deserved it and you needed it. The one thing that could have stopped your drifting was to find that your destiny and actions are inextricably tangled with those of other men. Now that you have learned that by drifting you may sink other ships, you won’t drift. I know you, Steve, and I swear it. This has been your salvation.” Radlett stopped short, and sank back into his chair.
Stephen sat looking sternly into the smoke. There were deep lines beneath his eyes, showing dark against his pallor, for so great was the tumult within him that even through his heavy tan his face showed white. When he spoke it was as a man who opens his mouth, and does not know whether the words that he speaks are loud or soft.
“You are right, Baird. I was wrong, and Baird, I’ve thrown over everything in the world that I cared about. There was a girl, Baird; you were right about that, too. She believed in me, even though she did not care. I cared for her more than for anything that I have ever dreamed of in the world. She was everything to me, Baird, and I promised her that I would make good. I broke my word. It was the only thing that I had not broken before. Well, my love for her did not check me.
“But since that—that—murder,” he spoke now from deep in his chest, “I have gripped myself; I have found myself. I am going to work up again, Baird. I can,—I am on the up grade. I am sure of it. It is a hard struggle, but the fight of it makes it all the more worth while. It will be hard, and it will take time; but I can do it.”
Radlett stared out of the window for a few moments, as though deeply absorbed in watching a passing carriage. Letting his eyes travel back to Loring, he asked: “Did you ever hear of the Kay mine? I think that it was situated near where you were last working.”
Stephen nodded. He was relieved at the change from the tenseness of the conversation, and a little ashamed of the emotion which he had shown. “Yes,” he answered, “it was only fifteen or twenty miles from Quentin. An English syndicate bought it some time ago. They brought out polo ponies, dog-carts, and heaven knows what besides, to gladden their hearts while in exile. I rode there only a few weeks ago, and looked over the place. The mine has been shut down for a year. It is a wonder that they were ever able to open it in the first place, with all the nonsense that they had. A man whom I saw there told me that the English managers had spent two days in arguing where to put the ‘baths in the houses of the tenantry.’ I hear that the mine has just been sold again.”
Radlett grinned from ear to ear at the thought of the effect on the community of a remark about the “tenantry.”
“Still,” went on Loring, “almost everybody says that it is a very rich property, and would have paid well if it had only been worked properly. The indications were very good for a big vein.”
Radlett beat a tattoo with his fingers on the arms of his chair.