"And I don't think I shall undertake any extended scheme of drainage or subsoiling in atonement for my little dream," Colville continued, resenting the parity of outline that grew upon him in spite of his protest. They were both silent for a while, and then Colville cried out, "Yes, yes; they are alike. _I_ dreamed, too, of recovering and restoring my own lost and broken past in the love of a young soul, and it was in essence the same cruelly egotistic dream; and it's nothing in my defence that it was all formless and undirected at first, and that as soon as I recognised it I abhorred it." "Oh yes, it is," replied the old man, with perfect equanimity. "Your assertion is the hysterical excess of Puritanism in all times and places. In the moral world we are responsible only for the wrong that we intend. It can't be otherwise." "And the evil that's suffered from the wrong we didn't intend?" "Ah, perhaps that isn't evil." "It's pain!" "It's pain, yes." "And to have wrung a young and innocent heart with the anguish of self-doubt, with the fear of wrong to another, with the shame of an error such as I allowed, perhaps encouraged her to make--" "Yes," said the old man. "The young suffer terribly. But they recover. Afterward we don't suffer so much, but we don't recover. I wouldn't defend you against yourself if I thought you seriously in the wrong. If you know yourself to be, you shouldn't let me." Thus put upon his honour, Colville was a long time thoughtful. "How can I tell?" he asked. "You know the facts; you can judge." "If I were to judge at all, I should say you were likely to do a greater wrong than any you have committed." "I don't understand you." "Miss Graham is a young girl, and I have no doubt that the young clergyman--what was his name?" "Morton. Do you think--do you suppose there was anything in that?" demanded Colville, with eagerness, that a more humorous observer than Mr. Waters might have found ludicrous. "He was an admirable young fellow, with an excellent head and a noble heart. I underrated him at one time, though I recognised his good qualities afterward; but I was afraid she did not appreciate him." "I'm not so sure of that," said the old man, with an astuteness of manner which Colville thought authorised by some sort of definite knowledge. "I would give the world if it were so!" he cried fervently. "But you are really very much more concerned in something else." "In what else?" "Can't you imagine?" "No," said Colville; but he felt himself growing very red in the face. "Then I have no more to say." "Yes, speak!" And after an interval Colville added, "Is it anything about--you hinted at something long ago--Mrs. Bowen?" "Yes;" the old man nodded his head. "Do you owe her nothing?"