Chap­ter III – Der­rick Vaughan–Novelist fol­lows Der­rick as he pre­pares for the long-await­ed return of his father, Major Vaugh­an, from India. Though years have passed, Der­rick clings to an ide­al­ized mem­o­ry of the Major—disciplined, refined, and com­mand­ing respect. That illu­sion is destroyed when Major Vaugh­an stum­bles off the ship in a drunk­en state, loud and unsteady, leav­ing Der­rick stunned and humil­i­at­ed. Wit­ness­ing this pub­lic dis­play, espe­cial­ly in front of Wharn­cliffe and the sym­pa­thet­ic ship’s doc­tor, forces Der­rick to con­front a deeply painful truth. His father is no longer the fig­ure of strength he imag­ined, but a man weak­ened by years of alco­hol abuse and ill­ness. This real­iza­tion is not just a per­son­al loss but a sym­bol­ic col­lapse of Derrick’s emo­tion­al foun­da­tion.

At Radley’s Hotel, the sever­i­ty of the sit­u­a­tion becomes clear­er. The ship’s doc­tor explains the Major’s liv­er con­di­tion, wors­ened by pro­longed drink­ing and the harsh cli­mate of colo­nial ser­vice. Recov­ery will require absolute sobri­ety, close care, and a shift in lifestyle—conditions that seem near­ly impos­si­ble giv­en the Major’s tem­pera­ment. The con­ver­sa­tion, though med­ical in tone, car­ries emo­tion­al weight. For Der­rick, it’s a reck­on­ing. His father needs more than treat­ment; he needs super­vi­sion, patience, and com­pas­sion. No one else is in a posi­tion to offer these. With­out hes­i­ta­tion, Der­rick resolves to take respon­si­bil­i­ty, not out of oblig­a­tion, but from a deep, unwa­ver­ing sense of love and moral duty. That moment reveals the kind of son—and man—he is becom­ing.

Derrick’s deci­sion to move in with his father marks a major shift in the course of his life. His writ­ing, which had start­ed to gain momen­tum, must now take a back seat. Social oppor­tu­ni­ties, per­son­al free­dom, and even peace of mind are will­ing­ly sac­ri­ficed. Wharn­cliffe is sur­prised, even qui­et­ly dis­mayed, at Derrick’s readi­ness to aban­don his lit­er­ary ambi­tions. But Der­rick sees this not as sur­ren­der, but as a call­ing. Car­ing for his father, even in this dimin­ished state, feels like a nec­es­sary act of redemption—for the Major, and per­haps also for him­self. He does not expect thanks or admi­ra­tion. What dri­ves him is a sense of inner oblig­a­tion, a belief that love, when test­ed, must be shown in action—not just in sen­ti­ment.

The chap­ter explores not just Derrick’s exter­nal choice, but the inter­nal land­scape that shapes it. His pain is silent, but it is there—in the way he holds back tears, in how he polite­ly changes the sub­ject when oth­ers speak light­ly of the Major’s con­di­tion. He is not bit­ter, only resolved. Through this, the nar­ra­tive paints a pow­er­ful image of qui­et sac­ri­fice. Derrick’s path is not dra­mat­ic or praised, but deeply noble. The strength required to care for some­one who once com­mand­ed your respect, and now earns only pity, is immense. It demands emo­tion­al matu­ri­ty, for­give­ness, and resilience.

Despite the emo­tion­al strain, Der­rick remains steady. He rearranges his days to bal­ance writ­ing with care­tak­ing, though the for­mer now fits into stolen moments. The man­u­script he was draft­ing is pushed aside, but his cre­ative spir­it doesn’t fade—it adapts. His expe­ri­ences with the Major begin to influ­ence his think­ing, deep­en­ing his view of human frailty and strength. These insights will lat­er inform his work, even if the world nev­er sees the pages. In that qui­et growth, Der­rick finds a kind of mean­ing. Every day spent man­ag­ing his father’s decline becomes part of a story—not one writ­ten in books, but one lived through com­pas­sion.

As the chap­ter clos­es, Derrick’s cir­cum­stances are uncer­tain, but his resolve is firm. He has cho­sen the hard­er road, and in doing so, revealed a char­ac­ter not defined by pub­lic suc­cess, but by pri­vate hon­or. His sto­ry is not about glo­ry but about grace—the kind that emerges when peo­ple give more than they receive, and love beyond what is easy. Through this act of devo­tion, Der­rick Vaughan’s qui­et strength begins to shape the emo­tion­al heart of the nar­ra­tive, promis­ing a depth that tran­scends any lit­er­ary ambi­tion.