XIII
FATHER AND SON
I think Isabella Lethbridge must have realized that something out of theordinary had brought me there that night, for when she met me in thehall there was a look of inquiry on her face. Still, she greeted mekindly, almost eagerly.
"It is good of you to come up with Hugh. Father is in the libraryalone," she said, "and mother and I have sat for more than an hourwithout speaking. Come in, will you?"
"I am afraid I can't," I said. "I have come to see Mr. Lethbridge."
Again she looked at me inquiringly, and I was sure, as her glance passedfrom myself to Hugh, that she divined something of our purpose.
"You said the pater was in the library, Bella?" said Hugh.
"Yes," was her reply. "Some man came up to see him directly afterdinner, and has only just left. I fancy he has had some unpleasantnessabout business."
Hugh, whose mouth had now become firm and determined, went to thelibrary door and knocked.
"Yes, come in."
I followed Hugh Lethbridge into the room, while he carefully shut thedoor. The older man looked at us inquiringly.
"Won't you sit down?" he said to me, nodding towards a chair; but Icould see that he hardly knew what he was saying. His eyes were rivetedon Hugh's face, as if he would read his inmost soul. Even then I couldnot help being impressed by the young fellow's behavior, nor, for thatmatter, by his general appearance. For Hugh Lethbridge was one of thefinest specimens of British young manhood I have ever met. Quite a boyin appearance, he was tall, well knit, and muscular. He had an open,frank countenance, sparkling blue eyes, and brown, wavy hair. He stoodbefore his father firm and erect. His every movement belied thestatement that he was afraid. There was no suggestion of fear in hispresence, except for the fact that once he looked towards me, as if tobe certain that I was there, near to him. Then, without preamble, andwithout seeking to excuse himself in any way, he burst forth with thenews.
"Pater," he said, "I have joined the Army--and--and I have married MaryTreleaven."
The two sentences came like two pistol-shots. He had evidentlydetermined to waste no time or words.
His father did not speak a word for some time. At first he looked at hisson, as though he did not comprehend him, and then, when the truth cameto him, felt stunned. I watched his face closely, as Hugh spoke, and fora moment could not help pitying him. I realized the pride of the man,realized, too, all the plans he had made, and understood something ofwhat he felt when he saw that the structure he had built up was levelledto the ground like a house of cards.
At first I thought he was going to lose control over himself. I sawanger flash from his eyes, saw his face harden. Perhaps, had I not beenthere, he would have yielded to the passion of the moment; but he was aproud man, and would not willingly place himself in a ridiculousposition. It was evident, too, that two forces were fighting in hisheart. One was love for his boy; for doubtless, in his way, Hugh wasvery dear to him. He was his only son, and, as he had hoped, heir to hispossessions. On the other hand, he could not bear opposition, and wouldnot yield an inch in the pathway which he had chosen to tread.
The silence was almost painful. After Hugh had blurted out hisconfession, he seemed like one incapable of speech, as his eyes wereriveted on his father's face. Neither did he feel that there wasanything for him to say. I had told Hugh, on my way up to the house,that he must not expect me to plead for him. It was not my business tointerfere between father and son. Indeed, I felt like an intruder allthrough the painful interview. As for Josiah Lethbridge, he sat in theleather-covered library chair, close by his writing-desk, motionless,for what seemed an interminable time. Then, as if by force of habit, hetook a pen, and began to draw grotesque figures on the blotting-pad. Hewas evidently thinking deeply. Outside the night was windless, and nosound reached us save that of the roll of the waves upon a distantbeach.
"Dad," burst out Hugh at length, "have you nothing to say?"
The older man moved in his chair slowly, and as if with difficulty.
"What is there to say?" and his voice was hard and cold.
"Well, I thought that--that----" And then Hugh broke down.
"What is there to say?" repeated Josiah Lethbridge in the same cold,even voice. "You know what my views are, you know what my wishes are. Ihave told you more than once my plans about you; but it seems that youthought yourself wiser than I. Or perhaps," he added, "you do not careabout my wishes. That is why you have gone and married a penniless girlwho can never be anything but a drag to you--married her, too,senselessly, madly, without a shadow of reason for doing it."
I saw then that the thing which had wounded him most deeply was not thefact that his son had joined the Army, but that he had married a poorvillage girl--married her in spite of his wishes, in spite of hispositive command.
"You have acted in a very honorable way, too, haven't you?" he sneered."Knowing what my feelings are in the matter, you take the irrevocablestep first, and then come and tell me afterwards."
"But, dad, don't you see?" and Hugh spoke excitedly. "Yes, I ought tohave spoken to you first, perhaps; but then I knew you would not giveyour consent, and--and I could not bear to lose her. You see, I--I loveher!"
"Love her!" and Josiah Lethbridge spoke contemptuously.
"Yes, love her," cried the young fellow hotly. "I have loved her foryears."
"A common village girl!" burst forth the father.
"She is not common," replied the son. "A purer, better girl neverbreathed. No one has ever dared to raise a breath against her. She iswell educated, too, and every one respects her."
It was evident the father's contempt aroused the lad's anger. He had nodifficulty in speaking now. Mary Treleaven had to be defended, and he nolonger stammered in his speech; words came easily.
"I say she is a pure girl and a good girl," he continued almost angrily,"and I love her."
I thought for the moment that Josiah Lethbridge would have lostself-control here, and have burst forth in a tirade of abuse; but stillhe kept command over himself, and, although his lips quivered, he spokequietly.
"Pardon me if I doubt your love," he said. "May I ask what you intenddoing with her? If a man loves a woman, he should at least have someprospect of keeping her decently before he marries her."
At this Hugh was silent. The father had, by his question, pierced theweak place in Hugh's armor.
"If you think," went on Josiah Lethbridge, "that I am going to doanything for her, or you, you are mistaken. You have chosen your ownway; you must follow it. I had intended another future for you, but myintentions do not seem to count. I think there is nothing more to say,"and he moved in his chair as though the interview were at an end. Then,as if on second thoughts, he turned to me and said quietly:
"I do not see why you should have been dragged into this, Mr. Erskine;but I suppose you had your own reason for coming."
I felt he had placed me in a wrong position, and for a moment was at aloss how to answer him. Indeed, I felt I had made a mistake in coming,and I was almost sorry I had yielded to Hugh's entreaty.
"He came," stammered Hugh, "because I--I begged him to. I was a coward,and I--I thought you would b--be more reasonable to me if he came."
"Have I ever been anything but reasonable to you, Hugh?" asked thefather. "Of course, to one like yourself, who will not listen to reason,I suppose my words have seemed harsh and arbitrary. I am an older manthan you, and therefore think my way is best. Besides----But we will notspeak of that. Surely, however, Mr. Erskine did not come here with theintention of condoning your action."
"I am sorry if my presence here is unwelcome," I said. "All thesame----"
"Excuse my interrupting," said Josiah Lethbridge. "Did you know of myson's intention? Were you aware of his mad plans?"
"No, dad," burst in Hugh; "Erskine knew nothing. He was as surprised asyou when, an hour ago, I went and told him. The truth is, dad, that youand I have never got on well together. You seem to have forgotten thatyou were
ever a young man, and had a young man's feelings andthoughts--seem to have forgotten that you were ever in love. You havealways treated me, even since I have reached a man's age, as though Iwere never to have a will of my own, or to think of disagreeing withyou. I feared you as a child, and--and up to to-night I feared youstill. That was why I asked Mr. Erskine to come with me while I made myconfession."
"Did you think," asked Mr. Lethbridge, "that he would influence me inany way?"
"I don't know what I thought," replied Hugh; "but Erskine told me thatyou ought to know--that I ought to come and tell you everything; and Ihave come, and I have told you."
"Very well. That is all, I suppose?" and still the older man spoke inthe same calm, measured tones. "You, I imagine, think you have done avery romantic and heroic thing. On the other hand, I feel that my onlyson has disgraced me."
"Disgraced you?"
"Yes, disgraced me. Every one in the county who knows me will point atme as one whose son married against his father's wishes--married withouta penny--married like one who is ashamed of his action. Well, I imagineI can bear it."
"Is that all you have to say, dad?"
"I cannot see what there is to say besides. You have followed your owndevices, and you must take the consequences."
"I think it may be as well to remember, Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "that,whether your son has acted wisely or foolishly, he can claim the creditof being sincere and honest. There is nothing ignoble in a young fellowmarrying the girl he loves. As for his joining the Army, it is whatevery young man ought to do at a time like this."
"Pardon me, Mr. Erskine, if I have my own opinions about my son'sactions. No doubt the old-fashioned ideas which were instilled into mymind as a boy are regarded as out of date. I was taught to believe inthe Commandment, 'Honor thy father and thy mother.' That Commandment, inthe present generation, is discarded; but I do not think the presentgeneration, or future generations, will be any the better because theyhave discarded it. As for his joining the Army, he certainly knows myviews about that."
"But surely you will give him credit for being conscientious andsincere?"
Josiah Lethbridge looked down at the blotting-paper upon which he hadbeen tracing grotesque figures without speaking. He seemed to imaginethat my question did not call for a reply.
"Hugh tells me that in all probability he will have to go to the frontshortly," I went on. "It may be--although I sincerely trust he will comeback in safety--he will never come back again. That being so, it isnatural to hope that his father will say a kind word before he goes.After all, your son is doing the noblest thing of which he is capable:he is offering his life to his country."
"Pardon me, Mr. Erskine," replied Josiah Lethbridge, "but perhaps I maybe forgiven if I hold different views from your own. I am a plain man,and as a rule do not waste words. When a son of mine deliberately floutsthe deepest convictions of his father's life; when he deliberatelydefies and does what his father has commanded him not to do; when hetramples underfoot his father's deepest convictions--then, I say, he isno longer a son of mine; henceforth he is a stranger to my house."
I was staggered at this. I had quite expected anger--denunciation,perhaps--but not this cold, cruel treatment.
"You cannot mean that, sir?" I said.
"I am not in the habit of saying what I do not mean, and I do not speakhastily. Your presence here, Mr. Erskine, may have given my brave sonthe courage to speak to his father, although I have my own opinion aboutyour good taste in coming here to support him; but it doesn't alter myopinions and determinations in the slightest degree, and I presume that,since he has chosen to defy me, he has made his own plans for thefuture. Anyhow, I have no more to do with him."
"Dad, you don't mean that!" and Hugh's voice was hoarse and trembling.
"I do not think I need detain you any longer," and Josiah Lethbridgerose from his chair as he spoke. "I have many things to attend to."
Perhaps I was foolish, but I could not bear the idea of the young fellowbeing turned out of his home without making protest. I knew it was nobusiness of mine, and that I was taking an unpardonable liberty ininterfering in any way, but I could not help myself.
"Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "you will live to repent this. That your sonmay have been foolish in making a hurried marriage I do not deny; butthat he has done wrong in joining the Army at such a time as this I _do_deny, and it seems to me that no father should treat his son as you aretreating yours. He, at least, is offering his life, while you, without athought of sacrifice and without care for your country's need, coldlyturn him out of the house."
"Sacrifice!" and for the first time there was a touch of passion in hisvoice. "We are dragged into this ghastly war through the bungling of ourstatesmen; we are made the puppets and playthings of political hacks!"he cried. "The whole country is being dragged to ruin because of the madbungling of those at the head of affairs, and then, because some of usare sane and do not wish to see the country bled to death, we are toldthat we are making no sacrifice. Sacrifice! I have within the last weeklost a fortune through this madness. My business will be ruined; weshall be all bled white with taxation; England will never be the sameagain; and my own son--or he who was my son," he added in bitterparenthesis--"offers himself as a legalized murderer! And then you talkabout sacrifice! But remember this," he added, looking towards Hugh, "itwill be no use your coming to me in days to come, or expecting help inany way. I wash my hands of your whole future. As you have made yourbed, so you must lie on it."
Hugh Lethbridge stood in the middle of the room, looking at his fatherin a dazed kind of way, as though he had failed to comprehend his words.
"You--you surely don't mean that, dad!"
Josiah Lethbridge stood, resting one hand on the back of his chair, hisface hard and immovable, no word passing his lips.
"Good-bye, dad," and Hugh held out his hand. The father did not seem tonotice it. He stood perfectly still, with the same hard look on hisface. Hugh passed out of the room, leaving me alone with the angry man.
"Good-night, sir," I said. "I am sorry, and some day you will be."
He hesitated a second, as if in doubt whether to speak, then he lookedat me more kindly.
"Mr. Erskine," he said, "doubtless you do not approve of my actions, butmy convictions are not of yesterday."
"I hope, when you have considered, you will act differently," was myreply. "Your son may have all the foolishness of a boy, but he is a ladof whom any father ought to be proud."
Mr. Lethbridge did not speak a word for some seconds, then he said, halfapologetically:
"I am afraid, Mr. Erskine, that I have been very rude to you. I rememberthat you are a guest in my house, and I am afraid that, in mydisappointment, I have broken the laws of hospitality. I shall always bepleased to see you here, when you care to call."
"Thank you," I replied, "but I am afraid I cannot accept the hospitalitywhich you offer. The man who closes his door to such a son as yours, andfor such a reason, forfeits all right to respect. I am told you claim tobe a religious man, but I will not speak of that." And I, too, passedout of the room.
I had scarcely closed the door behind me when I saw Isabella Lethbridgestanding in the hall.
"Hugh has gone in to see mother," she said. "Please tell me what hashappened."
"I have no right to do that, Miss Lethbridge," was my reply."Good-night."
I went to the door and opened it, regardless of what she might think ofme. It seemed to me that I could not breathe in the house; theatmosphere was stifling, and the memory of the look I had seen on Hugh'sface made me so angry that I could not trust myself.
The Passion for Life Page 13