Part 29 (2/2)
”Your father,” continued the old man immovably, ”left with me a small amount of money, which I shall turn over to you at once. It should be sufficient to maintain you until you are able to support yourself, and I am willing to add to it if necessary. I think-I believe that in the course of time experience will show you that I have been just with you, and if you show yourself worthy I shall always be ready to help you to the best of my ability.”
Aunt Gertrude looked pleadingly at her husband, but he did not see her.
No one else had courage to say anything, and indeed to do so would have been worse than useless; for whether Mr. Lambert had judged his nephew too harshly or not, it was certain that he could not be made to look at the facts of the case in a different light. To him two things were of paramount importance,-obedience to his wishes, and respect for public opinion, and Paul had offended against both of these fundamental statutes. The old merchant had not exaggerated when he said that his nephew's conduct had mortified him.
Paul made no attempt to defend himself; he was too much dazed by all that the day had brought forth to find a word to say.
Well, he was free. He should have been glad-and only a few months before he would have been. But looking helplessly around the table, from one face to the other he realized suddenly that he was _not_ glad. Why, he had grown to love them all-he had even a certain fondness for Carl. Who was there now to care whether he got into sc.r.a.pes or out of them, whether he won prizes or burnt his pictures to cinders, whether he was defeated or triumphant. But his face showed nothing of what was pa.s.sing in his mind. Somewhere in the distance Mr. Lambert was saying,
”I wished for all of you to hear what I had to say to my nephew, so that you would understand that I judged him by nothing but what he himself admitted. And I believe, Gertrude, that when you have considered the matter as carefully as I have you will feel that I am doing only what is just, and, I hope, wise. Paul is not a child, but a young man, quite able to think for himself. It is plain that our ways and customs are disagreeable to him, and I have come to believe that it is only fair to him to let him go his own way as he thinks best. And-er-that is all.”
One by one the others rose from the table, and left the room. Only Paul and his uncle remained.
”Have I made myself quite clear?” asked Mr. Lambert, sitting down at his desk, and putting up the roll-top.
”Yes, uncle. I-when do you want me to-go?”
”That I leave entirely to your convenience,” returned Mr. Lambert. He opened a drawer and took out an envelope with a rubber band around it, which he gave to his nephew. ”If you should find that this is not sufficient for your needs you may let me know. I am very sorry that you have forced this painful duty upon me-I had hoped that you-I still hope that you will realize-”
”My responsibilities,” said Paul absently. ”Oh, I have-but never mind.
I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't understand-”
”Quite so. I want you to know that I am not acting with any thought of punis.h.i.+ng you. I am doing only what I believe to be best.”
”Yes, sir.”
Mr. Lambert looked curiously at his nephew's face, and saw that the contrition in it was sincere. He did not for a moment waver in his decision, but after a moment he held out his hand.
”I hope you do not harbor any hard feelings against me?”
Paul slowly and wonderingly took the proffered hand. His uncle's cold, immovable justice was something that he had never been able to understand. Not for a moment did he dream of asking for pardon, but he could not ”harbor any hard feelings” against the austere old man, who judged everything according to an inflexible standard of right and wrong-who saw all conduct as either black or white, and to whom the crime of disobedience was equally unpardonable whether it affected the routine of a little household or the affairs of a nation.
CHAPTER XIV-THE CROSSROADS
Along the dusty road, Paul trudged alone, his head bent. He did not look up until the little town lay behind him. There was very little feeling of exultation in his heart as he made his way along the shady road, under the apple trees, from which the yellow fruit was already falling.
For the first time in his life, this young citizen of the world knew what homesickness was-and he could not bring himself to look back to the town to which he had come so unwillingly ten months before. Well, he was free-he was his own master. That was what his uncle had said. The whole world lay before him-but where should he go? There was no one out there who knew that he was coming, or who cared whether he came or stayed.
There was the city-”lots of people, lots of streets, lots of houses.”
But what was Paul Winkler to the city? And even if at some time in that future to which he looked forward with dogged hope, he should make fame and fortune, would the city care any more about Paul Winkler? Would he not have been wiser-and happier-to have fitted himself to the ways of his own people, to have gone on growing up among them, learning to know them, to honor them for their simple virtues, and to forgive them their weaknesses? He shook his head impatiently; it was too late to think about the might-have-beens.
He had just reached a bend in the road, when he heard a voice calling him.
”Paul! Oh, Paul, wait a minute!”
He stopped, and looked around slowly. Janey was running toward him, stumbling over the stones in the road, panting, her round little face puckered with distress.
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