“Indeed?” replied Richard, softening.  “I am glad I said he was an honourable man, out of all this wretched affair.  But I always say that and have never doubted it.  Now, my dear Esther, I know these views of mine appear extremely harsh to you, and will to Ada when you tell her what has passed between us.  But if you had gone into the case as I have, if you had only applied yourself to the papers as I did when I was at Kenge’s, if you only knew what an accumulation of charges and counter-charges, and suspicions and cross-suspicions, they involve, you would think me moderate in comparison.”

“Perhaps so,” said I.  “But do you think that, among those many papers, there is much truth and justice, Richard?”

“There is truth and justice somewhere in the case, Esther—­”

“Or was once, long ago,” said I.

“Is—­is—­must be somewhere,” pursued Richard impetuously, “and must be brought out.  To allow Ada to be made a bribe and hush-money of is not the way to bring it out.  You say the suit is changing me; John Jarndyce says it changes, has changed, and will change everybody who has any share in it.  Then the greater right I have on my side when I resolve to do all I can to bring it to an end.”

“All you can, Richard!  Do you think that in these many years no others have done all they could?  Has the difficulty grown easier because of so many failures?”

“It can’t last for ever,” returned Richard with a fierceness kindling in him which again presented to me that last sad reminder.  “I am young and earnest, and energy and determination have done wonders many a time.  Others have only half thrown themselves into it.  I devote myself to it.  I make it the object of my life.”

“Oh, Richard, my dear, so much the worse, so much the worse!”

“No, no, no, don’t you be afraid for me,” he returned affectionately.  “You’re a dear, good, wise, quiet, blessed girl; but you have your prepossessions.  So I come round to John Jarndyce.  I tell you, my good Esther, when he and I were on those terms which he found so convenient, we were not on natural terms.”

“Are division and animosity your natural terms, Richard?”

“No, I don’t say that.  I mean that all this business puts us on unnatural terms, with which natural relations are incompatible.  See another reason for urging it on!  I may find out when it’s over that I have been mistaken in John Jarndyce.  My head may be clearer when I am free of it, and I may then agree with what you say to-day.  Very well.  Then I shall acknowledge it and make him reparation.”

Everything postponed to that imaginary time!  Everything held in confusion and indecision until then!

“Now, my best of confidantes,” said Richard, “I want my cousin Ada to understand that I am not captious, fickle, and wilful about John Jarndyce, but that I have this purpose and reason at my back.  I wish to represent myself to her through you, because she has a great esteem and respect for her cousin John; and I know you will soften the course I take, even though you disapprove of it; and—­ and in short,” said Richard, who had been hesitating through these words, “I—­I don’t like to represent myself in this litigious, contentious, doubting character to a confiding girl like Ada.”