"I'm--awfully sorry, sir," he said. "If you understand--you'll
forgive me."
"I do understand, Dick," the squire said with great kindness. "I know
I've been hard on you about that poor boy. I'm infernally sorry for the
whole wretched business. But--as you say--you'll get over it. You've
got Juliet."
"Yes, thank God!" Dick said. "I don't know how I should endure life
without her. She's all I have."
The squire's face contracted a little. "No one else, Dick?" he said.
Dick glanced up. "And you, sir," he amended with a smile. "I'm afraid I'm
rather apt to take you for granted. I suppose that's the bond you spoke
of. I haven't--you know I haven't--the least desire to get away from it."
"Thank you," Fielding said, and stifled a sigh. "Life has been pretty
damnable to us both, Dick. We might have been--we ought to have
been--much more to each other."
"There's no tie more enduring than friendship," said Dick quickly. "You
and I are friends--always will be."
Fielding's eyes had a misty look. "The best of friends, Dick lad," he
said. "But will--friendship--give me the right to offer you help without
putting up your pride? I don't want to order your life for you, but you
can't go on with this village _domini_ business much longer.
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