“Well, yes, if things run smoothly; but I have always to reckon with you.” “And I am a dangerous enemy. That book has not tended to make us any better friends. I have been drawn into it with a familiarity which I resent. Caricature and laughter at the expense of those in power is only excusable in the ignorant, and rarely pardonable even in them.” “You mistake,” said Genius, laughing. “The cap was never meant to fit you; but if it does, why, then, you had better wear it.” Plucritus was silent, till at last he remarked, with a decided sneer,— “Deborah expects great things from this book. It is to be the making of her name and fortune, and is to translate her from a plain and insignificant village schoolmistress into one of the first actresses of the day.” Genius interjected: “Deborah is so wrapped up in me that she is unconscious what she wants; however, that will settle itself later.” “Well, yes,” rejoined Plucritus, and he laughed. “A bigger fool than she never walked this earth. Experience scarcely seems to have the power to teach her anything.” “You should blame me,” said Genius. “Deborah, apart from teaching children, is very irresponsible.” “Well, and it is my duty,” observed Plucritus, in his hardest, cruellest voice, “to make all people on this earth responsible; we do not recognise an irresponsible person. They are useless except to form the everlasting bulwarks. But may I ask you (since you wish to bring the responsibility upon yourself), may I ask you why you have thrown yourself so signally on the side of Virginius? He regards you with little favour and no friendship, and for the last twelve years or more he has been perfectly immaterial.” “I have thrown myself on his side,” said Genius, “because, try as I will, I cannot but admire him. I have watched him narrowly though he seems but a negative, silent power, and I have been more than struck by the patient dignity with which he has stood under insults and lies and calumny. Probably it is the attraction of opposites—as my own impulse is to answer fire for fire and be magnanimous only in victory.” “Are you quite sure your twelve years’ study have been profitable?” asked Plucritus. “Quite.” “If you had taken my advice you would have left studying spirits and have confined your attention to the world.” “The world!” cried Genius. “I have studied the world, and have found it about as interesting as a repeating decimal, a long continuance of redundancy.” “Once Virginius advised you to restrain your contempt for the world. It was the only piece of wise advice he ever gave you. But we will wait and see the issue of this marvellous book, which is to remove hereditary curses, lighten the author’s faith, and work as many impossibilities as are contained in its leaves themselves.” CHAPTER XVIII THE SILENT FOREST[1]