CHAPTER XIX.
KENELM CHILLINGLY drew a chair close to his antagonist's, and silently
laid a hand on his.
Tom Bowles took up the hand in both his own, turned it curiously
towards the moonlight, gazed at it, poised it, then with a sound
between groan and laugh tossed it away as a thing hostile but trivial,
rose and locked the door, came back to his seat and said bluffly,--
"What do you want with me now?"
"I want to ask you a favour."
"Favour?"
"The greatest which man can ask from man,--friendship. You see, my
dear Tom," continued Kenelm, making himself quite at home, throwing
his arm over the back of Tom's chair, and stretching his legs
comfortably as one does by one's own fireside; "you see, my dear Tom,
that men like us--young, single, not on the whole bad-looking as men
go--can find sweethearts in plenty. If one does not like us, another
will; sweethearts are sown everywhere like nettles and thistles. But
the rarest thing in life is a friend. Now, tell me frankly, in the
course of your wanderings did you ever come into a village where you
could not have got a sweetheart if you had asked for one; and if,
having got a sweetheart, you had lost her, do you think you would have
had any difficulty in finding another? But have you such a thing in
the world, beyond the pale of your own family, as a true friend,--a
man friend; and supposing that you had such a friend,--a friend who
would stand by you through thick and thin; who would tell you your
faults to your face, and praise you for your good qualities behind
your back; who would do all he could to save you from a danger, and
all he could to get you out of one,--supposing you had such a friend
and lost him, do you believe that if you lived to the age of
Methuselah you could find another? You don't answer me; you are
silent. Well, Tom, I ask you to be such a friend to me, and I will be
such a friend to you."
Tom was so thoroughly "taken aback" by this address that he remained
dumfounded. But he felt as if the clouds in his soul were breaking,
and a ray of sunlight were forcing its way through the sullen
darkness. At length, however, the receding rage within him returned,
though with vacillating step, and he growled between his teeth,--
"A pretty friend indeed, robbing me of my girl! Go along with you!"
"She was not your girl any more than she was or ever can be mine."
"What, you be n't after her?"
"Certainly not; I am going to Luscombe, and I ask you to come with me.
Do you think I am going to leave you here?"
"What is it to you?"
"Everything. Providence has permitted me to save you from the most
lifelong of all sorrows. For--think! Can any sorrow be more lasting
than had been yours if you had attained your wish; if you had forced
or frightened a woman to be your partner till death do part,--you
loving her, she loathing you; you conscious, night and day, that your
very love had insured her misery, and that misery haunting you like a
ghost!--that sorrow I have saved you. May Providence permit me to
complete my work, and save you also from the most irredeemable of all
crimes! Look into your soul, then recall the thoughts which all day
long, and not least at the moment I crossed this threshold, were
rising up, making reason dumb and conscience blind, and then lay your
hand on your heart and say, 'I am guiltless of a dream of murder.'"
The wretched man sprang up erect, menacing, and, meeting Kenelm's
calm, steadfast, pitying gaze, dropped no less suddenly,--dropped on
the floor, covered his face with his hands, and a great cry came forth
between sob and howl.
"Brother," said Kenelm, kneeling beside him, and twining his arm round
the man's heaving breast, "it is over now; with that cry the demon
that maddened you has fled forever."
