Part 37 (1/2)

”Mr. Finn”--she shook hands with him--”I hope you're proud of your son.” And then she shook hands with Jane and Barney Bill. ”I'm glad to meet such old friends of Paul.” And to Paul, as he held the door open, she said, her clear kind eyes full on him, ”Remember, we want men in England.”

”Thank G.o.d, we've got women,” said he, with lips from which he could not keep a sudden quiver.

He closed the door and came up to his father standing on the hearthrug.

”And now, why shouldn't I speak? Why shouldn't I be an honest man instead of an impostor?”

”Out of pity for me, my son.”

”Pity? Why, what harm would it do you? There's nothing dishonourable in father and son fighting an election.” He laughed without much mirth.

”It's what some people would call sporting. As for me, personally, I don't see why you should be ashamed of owning me. My record is clean enough.”

”But mine isn't, Paul,” said Silas mournfully.

For the first time Paul bowed his head. ”I'm sorry,” said he. ”I forgot.” Then he raised it again. ”But that's all over and buried in the past.”

”It may be unburied.”

”How?”

”Don't you see?” cried Jane. ”Even I can. If you spring your relations.h.i.+p upon the public, it will create an enormous sensation--it will set the place on fire with curiosity. They'll dig up everything they can about you--everything they can about him. Oh, Paul, don't you see.

”It's up agin a man, sonny,” said Barney Bill, limping towards them, ”it's up agin a candidate, you understand, him not being a Fenian or a Irish patriot, that he's been in gaol. Penal servitude ain't a nice state of life to be reminded of, sonny. Whereas if you leaves things as they is, n.o.body's going to ask no questions.”

”That's my point,” said Silas Finn.

Paul looked from one to the other, darkly. In a kind of dull fierce pa.s.sion he had made up his mind to clear himself before the world, to rend to tatters his garments of romance, to snap his fingers at the stars and destiny and such-like deluding toys, to stand a young Ajax defying the thunderbolts. Here came the first check.

”If they found out as how he'd done time, they'd find out for why,”

said Bill, c.o.c.king his head earnestly.

As Paul, engaged in sombre thought, made no reply, Silas turned away, his hands uplifted in supplication, and prayed aloud. He had sinned in giving way to his anger. He prostrated himself before the divine vengeance. If this was his apportioned punishment, might G.o.d give him meekness and strength to bear it. The tremulous, crying voice, the rapt, fanatical face, and the beseeching att.i.tude struck a bizarre note in the comfortable and worldly room. Supported on either side by Jane, helpless and anxious, and Barney Bill, crooked, wrinkled, with his close-cropped white hair and little liquid diamond eyes, still nervously tearing his hat-brim, he looked almost grotesque. To Paul he seemed less a man than a creation of another planet, with unknown and incalculable instincts and impulses, who had come to earth and with foolish hand had wiped out the meaning of existence. Yet he felt no resentment, but rather a weary pity for the stranger blundering through an unsympathetic world. As soon as there came a pause in the prayer, he said not ungently:

”The Almighty is not going to use me as an instrument to punish you, if I can help it. I quite appreciate your point. I'll say nothing.”

Barney Bill jerked his thumb towards the chair where the Princess had been sitting:

”She won't give it away?”

Paul smiled sadly. ”No, old man. She'll keep it to herself.”

That marked the end of the interview. Paul accompanied the three downstairs.

”I meant to act for the best, Paul,” said Silas piteously, on parting.

”Tell me that I haven't made you my enemy.”

”G.o.d forbid,” said Paul.

He went slowly up to his room again and threw himself in his writing chair. His eye fell upon the notes on the sheet of foolscap. The Radical candidate having been chosen, they were no longer relevant to his speech. He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the waste-paper basket. His speech! He held his head in both hands. A couple of hours hence he would be addressing a vast audience, the centre of the hopes of thousands of his fellow countrymen. The thought beat upon his brain.

He had had the common nightmare of standing with conductor's baton in front of a mighty orchestra and being paralyzed by sense of impotence.