“Then is Father to be set at nought?” said Ralph. “I did not know it could be.”
“It cannot,” said Simon, from the doorway. “It will not, and I must face the result, the hostility of my family, the trouble for myself. I must meet it as a personal sorrow and suffer it as such. I cannot alter what I have said. I wish I could. If you knew how much I wish it! I have not wished even for the one thing more. But I must follow my conscience, if I do so alone.”
There was a silence before Hamish answered in a quiet tone.
“I must say the same to you, sir. We should understand each other, if we understand nothing else. And more I do not understand. I too must suffer the trouble for myself, the greater that Naomi must share it. It will do no good to say more.”
“I must say one word. I must trust you to do nothing at the time. To remember your youth and ignorance, and what is due to those to whom your debt is great. And due also to Naomi, due to yourself.”
“I promise it, sir. It is a thing you have a right to ask. I am troubled by our difference, wish I could see it in its true light. But I must say I know I do not do so, and that in the end I must claim the right of every man to judge his cause for himself.”
Simon went down to the library and summoned his brother.
“Walter, we are living the evil days. I wish I had been happier, while they came not. I wish I had ensured that they should not come. I should have left the place, and put the helpless people out of harm. But my heart was here, and my roots were deep. I could not do it, and the harm is done. I wish I could leave it, shut my eyes to the danger and the wrong. But my daughter! Can I fail her in this crisis of her life? Can I do anything but the thing I feel I cannot do? Anything but tell the truth?”
“Simon, I wish you could. We know the risk is small. And the trouble you would cause, is great. If we weigh one against the other, on which side does the balance fall? Which would Naomi choose, if she were outside the truth? You have been so much the master of them all, the mentor, the absolute head. It would all be seen as empty, as a pose. Can you face it, and go on after it? If you know you cannot, is it any good to try?”
“I can do what I must, as we all can. And face the result, as we face what we cannot escape. And we must take account of my uncle. He would countenance no breach of faith. He would see the question in one way and no other, would not weigh the sides. We saw and heard him, when it arose.”
“Simon, I see and hear you and your family.”
“They will see the truth as it is. They will see I have expiated the early wrong, continue to expiate it. Yes, it is a sorry place for their head.”
“You are the hero of a tragedy. It is a pity you are the villain as well. I am humbled before your complex part.”
“I know you dread it with me, for me, for yourself. My dread is for Hamish and Naomi, for the ending of their hope. I pity myself for my sight of it. My own exposure should seem a secondary thing. I must see it as it is.”
“It is a hard pass, Simon. I wish we were on the further side. What is to be done? How is the disclosure to be made?”
“I must simply make it. There is no cover and no escape. I must ask Rhoda for her wishes and try to follow them. Wishes! It is an ironic word. If only I could spare her! We had better get this first step over. Are she and my uncle in the house?”
“They are alone in the morning room. Fanny is still upstairs. And Mater is somewhere by herself. The time is as good as any other.”
“There is no good time. You will come with me, Walter? It will be better for me, if you are there.”
“I will come indeed. We must be able to discuss it. And I would not miss any stage in the drama. I am so absorbed in it.”
“I shall depend on your help,” said Simon, realising that he was being given it. “We will face the moment. It is nothing by the one that is to come.”
Sir Edwin and Rhoda were standing silent, having come to the end of their words. They turned, as the brothers came to them, and Simon spoke.
“Uncle, Hamish and Naomi will marry in spite of us, will take the matter into their own hands. What is to be done?”
“The one thing. I saw they were unshaken. And I see, as you do, the one course.”
“I do not feel with you,” said Rhoda. “To me it is a wrong one. It would turn risk into a certainty. It would break up innocent lives. It would bring shame on you and me and Simon. On you, Edwin; for you would be seen to have no son, to have lived a lie. It serves an old man’s conscience at the expense of youth. At the cost of the family name; for nothing that is told, can be hidden. Should we sacrifice so much to gain so little?”
“It is the thing that must be gained.”
“I see it must,” said Simon.
“I cannot see it. Are you not in love with sacrifice? Your clear conscience, your clean breast, will they not cost too dear? Cost others too dear, I mean; they may serve yourself. And have you thought what the moment would be! Think while there is time.”
“I have thought,” said Simon.
“How will you break the truth? Will you contrive a scene, put on an act? Call your family together, to undo yourself in their eyes? In the prime of your life and your fatherhood?”
“It is what I shall do. It is not an act.”
“I would rather die than have Hamish know.”
“I feel the same. I dare not tell my children. But I shall do so. And we know we shall not die.”
“My life is at an end,” said Sir Edwin. “My time of durance will be short. I can the better judge of yours.”
“You are both too self-righteous,” said Rhoda. “You should see yourselves as they would see you. And I will not consent to the confession. I have the right to decide. Such a thing is settled by the woman. You are anxious to do no wrong to anyone. Then see that you do none.”
“I must face the wrong I have done,” said Simon.
“I will not be there when you speak. I will not face the pain for others and myself. I meant what I said. It is needless and not only mine.”
“You had better be there,” said Walter. “The numbers will protect you. The meeting with Hamish afterwards will be saved from the worst. Everyone should be there, as it will ease things for all.”
“It is too great a retribution,” said Simon. “I see it with Rhoda’s eyes.”
“It is,” said Sir Edwin. “Civilised life exacts its toll. We live among the civilised.”
“The conventions are on the surface,” said his wife. “We know the natural life is underneath.”
“We do; we have our reason. But we cannot live it. We know the consequences of doing so. If not, we learn.”
“I shall never think quite the same of you, Edwin.”
“The moment comes to most of us with each other. It came to me with you. I am happy in the time of my downfall. It is late.”
“I am not,” said Simon. “It could not be better chosen by a hostile fate.”
“Would you like me to say the word?” said Walter. “It would be better for me, as I am not involved.”
“No, I must say it myself. I could not stand by and hear it said, afraid to do my own penance, humbler than I had reason to be. I shall fall in the eyes of my wife, see my effort for my sons wasted, take from my daughter the meaning of her youth. And this to avoid something that in some days would have been lawful and right!”
“We live in our own,” said Sir Edwin.
“What Simon and I did, is done in all days,” said Rhoda.
Chapter 10
“Hamish thinks you should be going,” said Fanny, coming into the room with her nephew and her children. “Simon and Walter have had the most of you, and it seems soon to say goodbye. Here is their mother come to say it with us.”