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Updated: June 5, 2025
He was young enough to be tormented by the determination to do the right thing; he was young enough to give his whole devotion to his sister; he was young enough to admire, against all determination, Olva's presence and prowess and silence; he was young enough to be haunted, night and day, by the terrors of his imagination; he was young enough to be amazed at finding the world a place of Life and Death; he was young enough finally to be staggered that he personally should be drawn into the struggle.
The silence that followed was filled with insistent, mysterious urgency. Craven did not come that night to Hall. Galleon had asked him and Olva to breakfast-the next morning. He did not appear. About two o'clock in the afternoon a note was sent round to Olva's rooms. "I've been rather seedy. Just out for a long walk do you mind my taking Bunker? Send word round to my rooms if you mind.
You're lucky to have been able to do so fine a thing. We shall meet again later on I'll see to that." Bunning, his whole body strung to a desperate appeal, caught Olva's hand. "Take me with you, Dune. Take me with you. I'll be your servant anything you like. I'll do anything if you'll let me come.
It was the fate of Bunning that his boots and spectacles should always negative any attempt that he might make at a striking personality. On the night after the "Rag" he sat in Olva's room and made a supreme effort at control. "If you can only hold on," Olva told him, "to the end of term. It's only a week or two now. Just stick it until then; you won't be bothered with me after that."
In Olva's room he stood, a disturbed figure facing the imperturbability of the other man with restless eyes and hands that moved up and down against his coat. Olva commanded the situation, with stern eyes he seemed to be the accuser. . . . "Sit down fill a pipe." "No, I won't sit what do you want?" "Please sit. It's so much easier for us both to talk.
"Going out somewhere?" he asked, a trifle enviously. "Up in the mountains, for a picnic. Olva's going along." And his tutor, and his esquire, and Olva's companion-lady, and a dozen Thoran riflemen, of course, and they'd be in continuous screen-contact with the Palace. "That ought to be a lot of fun. Did you get all your lessons done?" "Physics and math and galactiography," Rodrik told him.
In spite of her reserve there was impatience, and Olva's first judgment of her was that the last thing in the world that she could endure was muddle; she shone with the clean-cut decision of fine steel. Mrs. Craven spoke without rising from her chair. "I am very glad to see you, Mr. Dune, Rupert has often told us about you." Margaret advanced to him and held out her hand.
At any rate there they now were, the three of them Olva, Bunning, Craven placed in a situation that could not possibly stay as it was. In which direction was it going to develop? Bunning had no control at all, it would be he who would supply the next move . . . meanwhile in the back of Olva's mind there was that banging sense of urgency, no time to be lost.
"I will never rest until I know who murdered Carfax." He closed the door behind him and was gone. That attempt to make Craven speak his mind was Olva's last plunge into the open. He saw now, with a clarity that was like the sudden lifting of some blind before a lighted window, that he had been beguiled, betrayed. He had thought that his confession to Bunning would stay the pursuit.
Carfax also had had probably, at the bottom of his dirty, ignoble soul, more honest affection for Craven than for any one in the world. He had tried to behave himself in that ingenuous youth's company. Now young Craven, disturbed, unhappy, anxious, stood in Olva's door. "I say, Dune, I hope I'm not disturbing you?" "Not a bit." "It's a rotten time to come." Craven came in and sat down.
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