"MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION"
The whole of the following morning my father spent with Mr. Leigh, who
arrived in answer to his invitation soon after nine o'clock. When I
returned to lunch he was still there, and it was not until evening that
I found myself alone with my father.
"Hugh, I have something to say to you," he began gravely, "something
important."
I waited in silence, preparing to do battle with a sinking heart. But
as I looked into his worn, sad face, I saw there was a change in it
which favoured little the chances of my opposition. The vacuity of
hopeless weariness had gone, and in its place shone the light of a
great resolution. How should I hope to bend it!
"Hugh, my boy," my father began, "I owe to you a greater debt than
father ever owed son."
I would have interrupted him, but he held up his hand with an
imperative gesture, which I could not choose but to obey. And so I
listened in silence.
"I am not going to speak of this black cloud, which fate seems to have
decreed should never be rolled away from my head," he went on. "What
would be the use? Twelve months ago I tasted the very bottom-most
depths of misery. It seemed to me then that I must either go mad or
take my life. It was your letter, Hugh, which saved me from either
fate. God bless you for it!"
He turned away as though to watch the sun shoot down its parting rays
on the brown hillside. But I knew that he had another reason for
looking away, and a womanish longing came over me to seize his hands
and breathe out fond words. But somehow I could not. I don't know how
others find it, but it always seems to me to be as difficult for a man
to give vent to his feelings as it is for women to conceal them.
Between man and man there is always a curious shrinking from the
displayal of any emotion, more especially when it takes the form of
affection. To me, at any rate, it has always seemed so, and, though my
heart was full of a wild sympathy, and there was a great lump in my
throat, I said nothing.
"From the moment when you came to me, Hugh," my father proceeded, "life
began to be endurable. The months which we have spent together here
have been by far the brightest I have ever known since we were all
together in Devonshire. But we cannot go on for ever like this."
"Why not?" I dissented. "Life is very pleasant here to me, at any
rate. Where could we find a better dwelling-place?"
He shook his head.
"Life is not given to us to drone away," he answered. "A man's life
should include a career, should be always shaping itself towards a
definite end. It is a crime against nature, against our great destiny,
for a young man like you to live as we are doing; and it must not be."
"What would you have me do?" I cried; "cannot we do something together?"
He shook his head with a sad yet pleased smile.
"I have already decided," he said gravely; "chance has been kind to me,
and has thrown in my way the man most likely to be of use to me. I
will tell you more of this presently. For me the field of choice has
not been large--for you it is illimitable. Hugh, this is what I
chiefly want to say to you. It is my wish, my strong, heartfelt wish,
that you should accept your grandfather's offer and take your rightful
name and position."
I looked at him, incredulous, bewildered, hurt. Of all things I had
least expected this.
"Yes," he went on, speaking more rapidly, and with a deep earnestness
in his tone and manner, "it is my great wish. Do not think, Hugh, my
boy, that I have not appreciated your chivalrous renunciation of it.
The thought has been very dear to me, that my son has preferred poverty
and obscurity out of mere resentment for my bitter wrongs. But of late
I have seen this matter in a different light. Between my father and I,
Hugh, there has been no injustice. He was hard, but he is a soldier,
bred and born with all a soldier's instincts. He has honestly believed
me guilty, and I bear him no resentment. He too must have suffered,
Hugh, for I was his favourite son."
Suffered! Aye, I knew that he had suffered; but what were all his
sufferings to me compared with my father's!
"Hugh, it has become a bitter thought to me that, innocent as I am of
all offence against him, I am keeping away from him by keeping you with
me--a great consolation; and not only that, but I am keeping you away
from a great name, and a great position. It has grown upon me, Hugh,
this bitter thought, and now I pray you, I command you as my son, that
when you leave me, as leave me you must, you go to him."
"Why must I leave you, father?" I asked. "Let me go with you where you
are going."
He shook his head.
"It is absolutely impossible. I am going, Hugh, with Mr. Leigh to
travel in Northern Egypt. There is no race in the world in whom I have
felt more interest, and Mr. Leigh has strengthened it. He has spent
long years with them, living with a tribe of Arabs in a tent, and
sharing their life. He knows their language and their customs. He has
been as one of themselves, and, save in the forms of their religion, he
has become one of them, and now he has had disquieting news of his
favourite race. False prophets are working upon their imagination, and
stirring them up to no good end, striving to incite them to rise
against their best friends the English! Matters are fast coming to a
crisis, and Mr. Leigh is going back to his old tribe to try and regain
his former influence with them, and to keep them, at any rate, out of
the troubles which are fast arising. He has asked me to go with him,
Hugh, and I have consented. It is the sort of enterprise which I most
desired. There is a little danger, it is true, but if the worst should
happen I shall end my days not by my own hand, as one day I had feared
that I should, but sword in hand with a clear conscience. Could a
soldier wish for anything better?"
"I will go with you," I cried passionately. "Father, you shall not
leave me thus!"
He left his chair, and, coming to me, laid his hand upon my shoulder.
He had drawn himself up to his full height, and stood looking there
every inch a soldier, stately, imperious, and commanding.
"Hugh," he said firmly, "you have been the best son to me a father ever
had, and you will not thwart me now. Go with me to Egypt you cannot.
I forbid it. Command you to take your rightful name, I cannot; but I
desire it above all things. Take a day to think it over, and let me
know your decision to-morrow. Shall we leave it like that?"
Sorrowfully I bowed my head, and then I left the room, wandering
aimlessly out into the twilight, I cared not whither. Down the
grass-grown avenue I went, and out on to the white road, with a great
weight of grief upon my heart, and a dull despair numbing my senses.
It seemed to me that the crisis of my life had come at last, and
whichever way I looked black clouds were looming before me. Almost I
wished that I might die.