Sir Charles was at home and alone.
No one lived who was happier than Ruben Sên was when he went into
Snow’s den.
He felt assured that his love would not be refused. He was contented
to wait a few hours, even a few days, because so much delay was due to
C’hi Yamei. Kow Li would make a perfect go-between. And since he could
not be with Yamei yet, it would be the next best thing to hear Sir
Charles’ congratulations.
He knew how glad his Cousin Charles would be, how warmly and sincerely
Snow would congratulate, and how his kinsman and best friend of friends
would approve!
Snow heard him out without a word, and the old man’s face was all
kindness and friendship and understanding; nothing but that.
Then--very slowly, quietly, fully--Charles Snow told Ruben Sên Sên
King-lo’s story; told the son his father’s _true_ story.
Snow exaggerated nothing; he softened nothing.
Ruben stiffened--then slouched brokenly in his chair.
It was some time before Ruben spoke and when Snow had said it all, he
said no more.
“You mean,” Ruben began hoarsely, and broke off miserably.
“That I think you ought not to do it, Rue--ought not to marry at all.
I believe it myself very strongly, have no doubt about it at all. Your
father had none. It was his wish, his request to you when he was dying.
I wish I had told you sooner. I thought there was plenty of time, but I
had no business to think so. I ought to have told you long ago. I wish
to God I had. And if you had not come to me to-day, I should have sent
to you to come to me to-morrow. I’d give more than I can say not to
have put it off--until the mischief was done.”
“That need not trouble you, sir,” Sên said huskily. “The mischief--at
least to me--would have been done all the same. That part of it is of
no importance. My father loved my mother dearly, didn’t he?”
“Very dearly and to the end. But it cost him too much, Ruben; it cost
him more than the love of any woman is worth to any man. Exile broke
your father’s heart, Ruben; homesickness killed him. And his death was
a death of terror because he feared that you and Ivy might marry; knew
what it probably would cost you not to marry--especially Ivy--and knew
what it was bound to cost your children or theirs if you did.”
“But he was happy with Mother?”
“As happy with her as a man who has mismarried can be. Happy in her
herself, and in serving and shielding her.”
“She never knew?”
“Never. He kept it from her and it cost him his life--as noble and fine
a man as ever lived. I think you will obey him, Ruben. You are made of
his stuff, unless I have misunderstood you all these years.”
“Did you tell Ivy what he said?”
“No--because I knew that it would do no good and much harm. I could not
save Ivy. But I told Gaylor--you know with what result. I have told you
because I believe that you will let me save you.”
“Save me!”
“Yes--exactly that. And save C’hi Yamei.”
Ruben Sên screened his face with his hands.
Sir Charles went on--because he must. “I believe that you will let your
father save you. I am saying all this to you for him--saying it in his
name, at his request. I believe that you will come to see it as he did,
and will yield--because you are a Sên.”
Again they were silent.
Then, “But to be perfectly fair, I must tell you also that your father
hoped that, if you decided against his wish, and married in spite of
it, you would marry a Chinese girl”--the gray misery on Ruben’s face
lifted a little--“one more or less Westernized, the daughter of some
Chinese family living, and apt to stay, in England.” Ruben’s face
grayed again at that.
“Sên King-lo knew that you were Chinese, and knew that little Ivy was
English. It was for her he feared most.”
“Ivy has been very happy since she married,” Ruben interrupted.
“Very. But her Chinese-faced baby has destroyed her happiness. Her
misery at its birth was pretty bad. Your Cousin Emma was there.”
“It is a Chinese girl I wish to marry. While Mother lives I shall make
my home where Mother prefers to live--here, of course.”
“But your heart is in China.”
“My heart is in China and, if I lost my mother, no matter how many
years from now, I should go home to China and stay there.”
“On my soul, I believe you belong there!”
“Thank you, sir.”
Sir Charles smiled a little sadly.
“All true, Ruben,” the older man went on. “If you marry, this marriage
you propose is as little against your father’s judgment as any you
could possibly make. But his last prayer was that you would refrain
from marriage.”
“Because of my children?”
“Chiefly because of your children, and of theirs--but not altogether.
Remember, Ruben, your father had tried it out loyally and earnestly,
tried it out with the one woman he ever loved and whose companionship
was infinite delight to him always. She never palled on him. How many
husbands do you believe can say that? Your mother was the one great
personal love of your father’s life. He could not remember his mother.
You have your mother. He tried it out for all it was worth, Rue--put
up the finest fight I have ever seen; and he lost. And he was a man
of tireless pluck and of infinite tact. But it broke him--heart, soul
and body. His last years were lived in torment. His marriage was a
sacrifice. When he was dying in the garden at Ashacres he begged you
not to marry; I believe that he is begging you not to now--personally
and actually--begging you from his still troubled life somewhere
on-High.”
Ruben Sên turned his face down on his arm; his shoulders were not
steady.
Sir Charles Snow gave him time.
“But,” Sên argued again, “my children would be preponderantly Chinese.”
“We should hope so--_actually_ so, as well as in blood proportion. But
Nature is a jealous god. Nature plays nasty tricks--sometimes many
generations after. It is safer to count on Nature’s vengeance than on
her forgiveness.”
Sên put up still one more protest.
“Kow Li probably has gone to C’hi Ng Yelü already--Mother was sending
him. Just possibly C’hi Ng Yelü has consented already.”
“That is too bad,” Snow said gravely. “But it is not betrothal, even
so. Not until the gifts have been exchanged. And C’hi is not the man to
hold you to such a promise if you did not wish to fulfill it.”
Ruben could not deny that.
“I was with her yesterday, sir. I--I think it would hurt C’hi Yamei, if
it were broken off.”
“That was what your father said when I tried to persuade him, as I
_and he_ are trying to persuade you to-day. It was that that clinched
it--their marriage--with your father. He took the risk for her sake to
spare her temporary hurt and humiliation--took the risk for you and Ivy
that he forbids you to take, Ruben! It will be less unkindness to C’hi
Yamei to so pain her now, than to let her live to hear her children
called ‘mongrels.’”
Sên Ruben winced as Sir Charles had seen his father Sên King-lo wince
at the same thrust a quarter of a century ago in Washington.
After a moment Ruben got up heavily and moved to the door.
Neither spoke again, but Sên gave Sir Charles a not discourteous look
before he opened the door and went.
Slowly Sir Charles Snow struck a match, sighing deeply.
Snow believed that this time he had won.