“I may just as well tell you at once that I don’t know anything more of him. But de Barral was of the opinion, speaking in his low voice from under his hand, that this relation would have been only too glad to have secured his guidance.
“ ‘Of course I could not come forward in my own name, or person. But the advice of a man of my experience is as good as a fortune to anybody wishing to venture into finance. The same sort of thing can be done again.’
“He shuffled his feet a little, let fall his hand; and turning carefully toward his daughter his puffy round cheeks, his round chin resting on his collar, he bent on her the faded, resentful gaze of his pale eyes, which were wet.
“ ‘The start is really only a matter of judicious advertising. There’s no difficulty. And here you go and …’
“He turned his face away. ‘After all I am still de Barral, the de Barral. Didn’t you remember that?’
“ ‘Papa,’ said Flora; ‘listen. It’s you who must remember that there is no longer a de Barral …’ He looked at her sideways anxiously. ‘There is Mr. Smith, whom no harm, no trouble, no wicked lies of evil people can ever touch.’
“ ‘Mr. Smith,’ he breathed out slowly. ‘Where does he belong to? There’s not even a Miss Smith.’
“ ‘There is your Flora.’
“ ‘My Flora! You went and … I can’t bear to think of it. It’s horrible.’
“ ‘Yes. It was horrible enough at times,’ she said with feeling, because somehow, obscurely, what this man said appealed to her as if it were her own thought clothed in an enigmatic emotion. ‘I think with shame sometimes how I … No not yet. I shall not tell you. At least not now.’
“The cab turned into the gateway of the dock. Flora handed the tall hat to her father. ‘Here, papa. And please be good. I suppose you love me. If you don’t, then I wonder who—’
“He put the hat on, and stiffened hard in his corner, kept a sidelong glance on his girl. ‘Try to be nice for my sake. Think of the years I have been waiting for you. I do indeed want support—and peace. A little peace.’
“She clasped his arm suddenly with both hands pressing with all her might as if to crush the resistance she felt in him. ‘I could not have peace if I did not have you with me. I won’t let you go. Not after all I went through. I won’t.’ The nervous force of her grip frightened him a little. She laughed suddenly. ‘It’s absurd. It’s as if I were asking you for a sacrifice. What am I afraid of? Where could you go? I mean now, today, tonight? You can’t tell me. Have you thought of it? Well I have been thinking of it for the last year. Longer. I nearly went mad trying to find out. I believe I was mad for a time or else I should never have thought …’
“This was as near as she came to a confession,” remarked Marlow in a changed tone. “The confession I mean of that walk to the top of the quarry which she reproached herself with so bitterly. And he made of it what his fancy suggested. It could not possibly be a just notion. The cab stopped alongside the ship and they got out in the manner described by the sensitive Franklin. I don’t know if they suspected each other’s sanity at the end of that drive. But that is possible. We all seem a little mad to each other; an excellent arrangement for the bulk of humanity which finds in it an easy motive of forgiveness. Flora crossed the quarterdeck with a rapidity born of apprehension. It had grown unbearable. She wanted this business over. She was thankful on looking back to see he was following her. ‘If he bolts away,’ she thought, ‘then I shall know that I am of no account indeed! That no one loves me, that words and actions and protestations and everything in the world is false—and I shall jump into the dock. That at least won’t lie.’
“Well I don’t know. If it had come to that she would have been most likely fished out, what with her natural want of luck and the good many people on the quay and on board. And just where the Ferndale was moored there hung on a wall (I know the berth) a coil of line, a pole, and a life-buoy kept there on purpose to save people who tumble into the dock. It’s not so easy to get away from life’s betrayals as she thought. However it did not come to that. He followed her with his quick gliding walk. Mr. Smith! The liberated convict de Barral passed off the solid earth for the last time, vanished forever, and there was Mr. Smith added to that world of waters which harbours so many queer fishes. An old gentleman in a silk hat, darting wary glances. He followed, because mere existence has its claims which are obeyed mechanically. I have no doubt he presented a respectable figure. Father-in-law. Nothing more respectable. But he carried in his heart the confused pain of dismay and affection, of involuntary repulsion and pity. Very much like his daughter. Only in addition he felt a furious jealousy of the man he was going to see.
“A residue of egoism remains in every affection—even paternal. And this man in the seclusion of his prison had thought himself into such a sense of ownership of that single human being he had to think about, as may well
