A God and His Gifts (10 page)

“Not going to? No, it is not true. It is simply some passing trouble.”

“There are troubles that do not pass. You are fortunate not to have found it.”

“Come, tell us, my boy,” said Hereward. “If it is nothing, let it be so. If it is not, say what it is. We may be of help.”

“That is often thought and said. People over-estimate their powers. Yours are great, if you can help this. You can hardly undo what is past.”

“Come, say a little more,” said Sir Michael. “It seems such an unlikely thing. The girl would not be at a difference with anyone. We already know it.”

“I know it too. There is reason. That is what it is, or has been. How you are in the dark!”

“Well, shed some light,” said his father. “You need not leave us in it. Let us look at the trouble with you.”

“I will shed it fully. Perhaps you will be dazzled by it. Hetty is going to have a child. And it is not mine.”

“Oh, no, it is not possible,” said Ada. “There is some mistake. And of course it could not be yours.”

“It is not. It is what I said. In your sense it could not be. I do not know whose it is. I am never to know.”

There was a silence.

“It is sad news, my son,” said Hereward, with his eyes
down. “Sad for you and all of us. Your trouble is your father's.”

“Well, I would not have believed it,” said Sir Michael. “I hardly believe it now. I don't know what to say.”

“It seems to be the case with most of you,” said Merton. “And I can't be of any help.”

“You know what we feel,” said Salomon. “You do not want our words. Have you broken off everything?”

“Well, it has come to an end.”

“Is she to marry the other man?” said Reuben.

“No, she is not. He is married. That is all I know.”

“This will not break up his marriage?”

“No, there seems to be no thought of it.”

“What will be the future of the child?”

“I do not know. It is not my concern. When I knew the truth, it ended things between us.”

“You are sure?” said Zillah. “That it ended them for ever? Say the truth to yourself and to us. Have you lost your feeling for her?”

There was a pause.

“Such a feeling does not die at once, or ever die. I need say no more.”

Hereward was silent, his head bent as if in thought.

“What will her future be?” said Salomon. “We are forced to question you. You are not forced to answer.”

“I am not able to. I do not know. It must be what she can make it. I hope it will not go hard with her.”

“It seems it must,” said Zillah, pausing after her words. “If she gave up the child, and the trouble was concealed, would you forget it and marry her? Would it be for the happiness of both?”

Hereward raised his eyes.

“I hardly know. It will be months before the child is born. And how could she give it up?”

“It could be adopted. The way is not hard. And perhaps she need not lose sight of it.”

“You will help us, Zillah, if anyone can,” said Hereward.

“I had not thought of it,” said Merton. “And neither has she. I don't know how I feel about it.”

“You hardly can, my son. You must take your time. We must have long thoughts in youth. The decision would shape your life.”

“If I made it, I should mean it to. It would be the reason of it.”

There was a pause.

“Have you not made it?” said Hereward gently, bending towards him.

“I have, Father. There can only be one. I can make no other.”

“You are sure, Merton? Sure in your heart? Sure for the years of your life?”

“I am, Father. I have no doubt. I see I could have none.”

“Then it is the best one,” said Hereward. “There could be and might be others. But it is the best.”

“It is mine,” said Merton, lifting his head. “I hope we can do as has been said. Then things would be, as far as they could be, as they would have been.”

“It is true,” said his father. “And in a way and in the end they may be more.”

“It is a great difference. It is another path. But it is one I can tread. I see it plain before me. It is no longer blank and dark. And I should be willing to give. I am taking much. And I am glad to be taking it. It will give her something on her side.”

“You think and speak as yourself, my son,” said Hereward.

“It is not unusual to adopt a child,” said Ada. “We have spoken of it ourselves. You remember, Hereward, a few days ago. We said how we should like to have a child in the house again, and almost thought of adopting one. I don't mean we could adopt this child, of course.”

“No, that could hardly be our choice,” said Hereward, gravely.

“Why could it not?” said Sir Michael. “I see no
reason against it. It would give you a child whose parentage you knew, and keep Hetty's child under her eyes. There seems a great deal to be said for it.”

“There is something,” said Zillah, after a pause. “Merton would want to do everything for Hetty, if he did anything. It can only be everything or nothing, as he has really said. And it would give him a wife who was grateful to him, and at peace herself. And the secret could be kept.”

“Would it be?” said Salomon.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said his grandfather. “It could be all but forgotten. We should all do our part. We need scarcely say it.”

“No, we could hardly fail in a trust like that,” said Hereward. “But it is a serious and sudden idea. I don't know what to say. Any talk of adopting a child was casual. I only half-remember it. It was a passing thought.”

“You agreed with me,” said Ada. “I believe you gave me the idea. If you were casual, you were serious. You meant what you said.”

“I am sure I did, if it fell in with a wish of yours. But words are only words in such a case. They must be taken as nothing more.”

“Do we know anything about the child's father?” said Zillah.

“Enough,” said Merton. “Hetty has not been silent. He is a man of a high mental type and of our own class and kind. More I am never to know. I shall not seek to. I have seen it as the final word.”

“You are right to accept it,” said Hereward. “It gives your course its meaning. You will be right never to question it. I feel you will be right, my son.”

“It would be a good work,” said Sir Michael. “There could not be a better. It is one I should respect, that I should regard with sympathy and interest. I should respect the feeling that led to it. And I speak in a serious spirit.”

“I do not speak at all,” said Joanna. “I am taken by surprise. You must all be people of the world, never at a loss.”

“What do our sons say?” said Ada. “How do they see the idea? Are they enough ashamed of growing up to make their parents this amends?”

“Would not this child grow up?” said Salomon. “What you need is one who would not. You would suffer the same thing.”

“Oh, it would take a long time. We need not think of it.”

“No, we are in our later years,” said Hereward. “This would take us towards our last ones. There need be no trouble there.”

“I feel that light has broken,” said Merton. “I will say once that I should be grateful.”

“And I will say once that that settles it,” said Hereward. “That and your mother's wish.”

“How strange that we thought of adopting a child just at this time!” said Ada.

“The three young men in front of you are there all the time. One extreme suggests another.”

“Well, it will all work out,” said Sir Michael. “She will leave us for a while, and return as if nothing had happened. And they will marry, as if nothing had. And no one will connect the adoption with anything. And we must cease to do so.”

“Mamma, have we asked your permission to have the child?” said Ada.

“I don't know,” said Joanna. “I daresay you can tell me. But a noble course of action needs no permission. Only admiration. And that I give.”

“We must see it as an ordinary course,” said Hereward. “Nothing else need be thought or said. Anyone can adopt a child. We all know cases of it.”

“The plan seems to have made itself,” said Reuben. “We can leave it to develop in its own way.”

“What do you think of it, Salomon?” said Zillah.

“Well, I feel we are moving over rather deep waters. But it is out of our hands, as Reuben said.”

“It is Hereward who will benefit the most,” said Ada. “We can foresee the success of the plan in his case.”

“Well, childhood makes a great appeal to me. I have always been alive to its charm. It is a mark of the mature, worldly man, and calls for no surprise.”

“Now there is a question, Hereward. Are my father and aunt to know the truth? We must make our decision and hold to it.”

“They know it,” said Merton. “I have told them. I asked if anyone else should know. And they said I should not face it alone. And I see they were right.”

“Dear Father and Aunt Penelope! I feel they could not be wrong. I honour them equally. I have come to do so. It is good to find my son depending on them.”

“I have found I can depend on you all, Mother.”

“You must depend on no one else,” said Hereward, gravely. “See that you do not forget.”

“My boy, may your grandfather say once how he feels for you?” said Sir Michael.

“There is no need, Grandpa. You have shown it.”

“And now must show it in another way,” said Hereward.

“Now I am going to say whom I feel for,” said Ada. “It may be unexpected, but I will say it. I often have a sudden feeling that is just my own. I feel for Hetty; for what lies before her; for having to face us with our knowledge; for feeling she must take so much, when she herself has failed. Merton is beyond pity, with the generous part. And that his mother feels for him need not be said.”

“Perhaps none of it need have been,” said Hereward, gently. “For the reason that his mother felt for him.”

“Now here is our recurring difference. I do not believe in hiding what we feel. It means that no one knows we feel it. I will say it again. I feel for Hetty. A sense of
guilt is no help with its consequences. And we all do wrong.”

“And only the ordinary kind that does not add to us,” said Joanna. “It hardly earns us any feeling. It is really expected of us. We might almost as well do right.”

“Ah, the poor girl, we all pity her,” said Sir Michael. “I quite dread meeting her in a way. I shall be ill at ease, as if I had done something myself.”

“Well, perhaps you have, by not doing anything,” said Reuben.

“There should be no trouble,” said Zillah. “The moment will come and go. She will know what is being done for her, and will do her best.”

Hetty could do no more than this. She entered in her ordinary way, looked once into everyone's face, and although more silent than usual, betrayed nothing. She seemed to control what she felt by holding herself from knowing that she felt it. She was, as always, appreciative of everyone, and by listening with especial attention saved herself from the need to speak.

The need fell on other people.

“Well, we are all together,” said Sir Michael. “Just as we shall be in the end. It brings the future near to us. And it is not so far away.”

“Grandpa knew he would be ill at ease,” said Reuben. “He should have been prepared. Let someone talk about the weather.”

“The gales never cease,” said Merton. “They are doing harm to the trees. I hear more than one is down.”

“The elements are against us,” said his father. “Just when we want them in our favour. I mean, we all know people with journeys before them. I can think of several.”

“He can think of one,” said Reuben. “But he need not say so.”

“An elm came down near a cottage,” said Salomon, “and startled the cottager's wife.”

“Yes, poor woman, she is expecting a child,” said Sir Michael. “It is not the time for shocks. We must hope for better things ourselves. I mean I do for any friends of mine.”

“It is said to be difficult to give our real meaning,” said Joanna to her grandsons. “But I don't think it can be.”

“The weather has failed us,” said Salomon “We are
supposed always to talk about it. And it does seem a suggestive subject. But I never will again.”

“Never will do what?” said Ada.

“Talk of the weather, Mother. It is unworthy of me.”

“Well, I don't know,” said Sir Michael. “It can be a help when other subjects are forbidden—fail us in some way. It is awkward when there is a hush, and you could hear a pin drop, and everyone waits for someone else to speak, and no one does.”

“What harm is there in hearing a pin drop?” said Joanna. “And there is little danger of it. When a pin is needed, no one ever has one.”

“I have seen Hetty's house, Merton,” said Hereward. “And I am as pleased with it as you can be. But the men can't begin to work on it yet. So much harm has been done by the gales.”

“Well, there is no hurry now,” said Sir Michael. “That is, they will do it in their time.”

“We can do nothing,” said Reuben. “We must just bear it.”

“Just bear what?” said Ada. “Speak so that we can hear.”

“We have countenanced the habit of whispering,” said Hereward. “And now can hardly complain of it.”

“There is no reason for it,” said Sir Michael. “We should never seem to be covering anything up. It might give a wrong impression.”

“It is more likely to give a right one,” said Hereward, smiling at his sons. “The same as not covering it up.”

“Father surprises me,” said Reuben. “He is simply trying to help. He almost reminds me of myself. Can it be the simplicity of greatness?”