Foster, who was still at Kerton, came often to visit Livingstone. No one could do him so much good. The curate was just as confident and uncompromising in the discharge of his office as he was yielding and diffident when only himself was in question. He was so honest, and straightforward, and true--so free from rant or cant--so strong in his simple theology, that Guy soon trusted him implicitly when he spoke of the past and of the future that was so near. The repentance that was begun by Constance's dying bed was completed, I am sure, on his own.
"Frank," Guy said, one morning, suddenly, "I have written to ask Cyril Brandon to come to me. He will be here to-day. It would make me very happy if I could hear him say he forgave me."
"Do you think you will succeed?" I asked, sadly; for I felt a nervous certainty that the pain the interview must cost him would be unavailing.
"I can not tell," he answered, firmly; "but Foster says, and I know, that it is my duty to try. You may be present, if you like, on one condition--you must promise, whatever he may say or do, not to interfere by a look or a word."
I did promise; but I looked forward with dread to Brandon's coming. In an hour's time he was announced.
It was the first time I had seen him; and I was much struck by the mingled expression of suffering and ferocity that sat, like a mask, on his worn dark face. I have seen its like but once--in a dangerous maniac's. He walked straight up to Guy's couch without noticing me, and stood there silent, glaring down on the sick man with his fiery black eyes.
"It is very good of you to come," Guy said; "I scarcely hoped you would. I have wronged you, more deeply than any living man--so deeply that I could never have dared to ask your forgiveness if I had not been very near my death. Can you give me your hand? Indeed, indeed, I have repented sorely."
"I came, because, years ago, to see this sight, to see you lying there like a crushed worm, I would have sold my soul. Wronged me? Shall I tell you what you have done? There was only one creature on earth I cared for; that was my sister. All those years in India I had been fancying our meeting. I came back, and found her dying; more than that, I found her love turned away from me. You did _all_ this. I tell you, I never could get one of her old fond looks or words from her all the time she was dying. She was only afraid of me. By hell! you stood between us to the last. Do you know that she dragged herself across the room at my knees--mine, who never refused to indulge her in a whim before--first to be allowed to see you, and then to make me swear not to attempt your life?"