Rereworth's wonder had increased with every word he heard. It was so strange an encroachment on the ordinary monotony of life. He was aware of the quarrel between the late Mr. Trevethlan and Mrs. Pendarrel. He understood the feelings which had prompted Randolph. He regretted the termination of his career. It was the last sentiment that he expressed in his answer.
"Trevethlan," he said, "no apology will be necessary. Forgive me, if I grieve that your intentions should be defeated. For you may know that this makes your admission here void. But believe me, my regard was not for your name, and will be unaltered."
"I care for nothing else," said Randolph. "Already I have petitioned the bench. My sister and I return to Cornwall directly. Since you are so kind, perhaps you will spend the evening with us."
Rereworth consented, and his friend left him musing in the gardens. This then was the romance which surrounded the brother and sister, and the solution of the peculiarities upon which he had often meditated. The form of Helen Trevethlan stole gently into his reverie, not unwelcome. He was sorry to think she was going away, but at the same time glad that he was to see her again before she left. He pondered on the family feud, which was nothing to him—his relationship being with the Winstons—and gratified himself with the idea that he might possibly have prepared the way to a reconciliation. So ignorant was he of the true state of the case. But his thoughts continually reverted to the dark eyes of Randolph's sister. He was himself on the point of being called to the bar, having completed his course of preparation, and he asked himself whether a house and a wife would not be agreeable possessions.
Meantime his friend went and discovered himself to Mr. Winter. The lawyer was much annoyed, and looked very grave.
"I will not conceal from you, Mr. Trevethlan, since so I must call you," he said, after some reflection, "that your story gives me great dissatisfaction. It is only a blunder, but I wish my old friend Griffith had consulted me before sanctioning this scheme, and implicating me in it."
Randolph protested that the blame was imputable solely to himself.
"I know," said the lawyer, "I know all you would say. I am not attributing any fault to anybody. But I am vexed. I thought Griffith was more a man of the world. As for the worthy chaplain, parsons are seldom men of business. But I wish my old friend had confided in me."
"It was my fault he did not," said Randolph.
"In truth," Winter observed, "now I know all this, I am surprised I did not suspect it before, for you have the family countenance perfectly, Mr. Trevethlan. I know it well. And so has your sister. It is wonderful I did not think of it."