The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South

by Thomas Dixon

  CHAPTER XIII

  AN OLD STORY

  The doctor's house lay beyond the Capitol and in his haste Norton forgotthat a banquet was being held in his honor. He found himself suddenly faceto face with the first of the departing guests as they began to pourthrough the gates of the Square.

  He couldn't face these people, turned in his tracks, walked back to thenext block and hurried into an obscure side street by which he could avoidthem.

  The doctor had not retired. He was seated on his porch quietly smoking, asif he were expecting the call.

  "Well, you've bungled it, I see," he said simply, as he rose and seized hishat.

  "Yes, she guessed the truth----"

  "Guessed?--hardly." The white head with its shining hair slowly wagged."She read it in those haggard eyes. Funny what poor liars your people havealways been! If your father hadn't been fool enough to tell the truth withsuch habitual persistence, that office of his would never have been burnedduring the war. It's a funny world. It's the fun of it that keeps us alive,after all."

  "Do the best you can for me, doctor," he interrupted. "I'm going for hermother."

  "All right," was the cheery answer, "bring her at once. She's a betterdoctor than I to-night."

  Norton walked swiftly toward a vine-clad cottage that stood beside GovernorCarteret's place. It sat far back on the lawn that was once a part of theoriginal estate twenty odd years ago. The old Governor during his lastadministration had built it for Robert Carteret, a handsome, wayward son,whom pretty Jennie Pryor had married. It had been a runaway love match. Theold man had not opposed it because of any objection to the charming girlthe boy had fallen in love with. He knew that Robert was a wild,headstrong, young scapegrace unfit to be the husband of any woman.

  But apparently marriage settled him. For two years after Jean's birth helived a decent life and then slipped again into hopelessly dissolutehabits. When Jean was seven years old he was found dead one night underpeculiar circumstances that were never made public. The sweet little womanwho had braved the world's wrath to marry him had never complained, and shealone (with one other) knew the true secret of his death.

  She had always been supported by a generous allowance from the old Governorand in his last will the vigorous octogenarian had made her his sole heir.

  Norton had loved this quiet, patient little mother with a great tendernesssince the day of his marriage to her daughter. He had never found herwanting in sympathy or helpfulness. She rarely left her cottage, but many atime he had gone to her with his troubles and came away with a light heartand a clearer insight into the duty that called. Her love and faith in himwas one of the big things in life. In every dream of achievement that hadfired his imagination during the stirring days of the past months he hadalways seen her face smiling with pride and love.

  It was a bitter task to confess his shame to her--this tender, gracious,uncomplaining saint, to whom he had always been a hero. He paused a momentwith his hand on the bell of the cottage, and finally rang.

  Standing before her with bowed head he told in a few stammering words thestory of his sin and the sorrow that had overwhelmed him.

  "I swear to you that for the past two months my life has been clean and Godalone knows the anguish of remorse I have suffered. You'll help me,mother?" he asked pathetically.

  "Yes, my son," she answered simply.

  "You don't hate me?"--the question ended with a catch in his voice thatmade it almost inaudible.

  She lifted her white hands to his cheeks, drew the tall form down gentlyand pressed his lips:

  "No, my son, I've lived too long. I leave judgment now to God. The unshedtears I see in your eyes are enough for me."

  "I must see her to-night, mother. Make her see me. I can't endure this."

  "She will see you when I have talked with her," was the slow reply as if toherself. "I am going to tell her something that I hoped to carry to thegrave. But the time has come and she must know."

  The doctor was strolling on the lawn when they arrived.

  "She didn't wish to see me, my boy," he said with a look of sympathy. "AndI thought it best to humor her. Send for me again if you wish, but I thinkthe mother is best to-night." Without further words he tipped his hat witha fine old-fashioned bow to Mrs. Carteret and hurried home.

  At the sound of the mother's voice the door was opened, two frail armsslipped around her neck and a baby was sobbing again on her breast. Thewhite slender hands tenderly stroked the blonde hair, lips bent low andkissed the shining head and a cheek rested there while sob after sob shookthe little body. The wise mother spoke no words save the sign language oflove and tenderness, the slow pressure to her heart of the sobbing figure,kisses, kisses, kisses on her hair and the soothing touch of her hand.

  A long time without a word they thus clung to each other. The sobs ceasedat last.

  "Now tell me, darling, how can I help you?" the gentle voice said.

  "Oh, mamma, I just want to go home to you again and die--that's all."

  "You'd be happier, you think, with me, dear?"

  "Yes--it's clean and pure there. I can't live in this house--the very air Ibreathe is foul!"

  "But you can't leave Dan, my child. Your life and his are one in your babe.God has made this so."

  "He is nothing to me now. He doesn't exist. I don't come of his breed ofmen. My father's handsome face--my grandfather's record as the greatestGovernor of the state--are not merely memories to me. I'll return to myown. And I'll take my child with me. I'll go back where the air is clean,where men have always been men, not beasts----"

  The mother rose quietly and took from the mantel the dainty morocco-coveredcopy of the Bible she had given her daughter the day she left home. Sheturned its first, pages, put her finger on the sixteenth chapter of theBook of Genesis, and turned down a leaf:

  "I want you to read this chapter of Genesis which I have marked when youare yourself, and remember that the sympathy of the world has always beenwith the outcast Hagar, and not with the foolish wife who brought abeautiful girl into her husband's house and then repented of her folly."

  "But a negress! oh, my God, the horror, the shame, the humiliation he hasput on me! I've asked myself a hundred times why I lived a moment, why Ididn't leap from that window and dash my brain out on the ground below--thebeast--the beast!"

  "Yes, dear, but when you are older you will know that all men are beasts."

  "Mother!"

  "Yes, all men who are worth while----"

  "How can you say that," the daughter cried with scorn, "and remember myfather and grandfather? No man passes the old Governor to-day withoutlifting his hat, and I've seen you sit for hours with my father's picturein your lap crying over it----"

  "Yes, dear," was the sweet answer, "these hearts of ours play strangepranks with us sometimes. You must see Dan to-night and forgive. He willcrawl on his hands and knees to your feet and beg it."

  "I'll never see him or speak to him again!"

  "You must--dear."

  "Never!"

  The mother sat down on the lounge and drew the quivering figure close. Herface was hidden from the daughter's view when she began to speak and sothe death-like pallor was not noticed. The voice was held even by a firmwill:

  "I hoped God might let me go without my having to tell you what I must saynow, dearest"--in spite of her effort there was a break and silence.

  The little hand sought the mother's:

  "You know you can tell me anything, mamma, dear."

  "Your father, my child, was not a great man. He died in what should havebeen the glory of young manhood. He achieved nothing. He was just thespoiled child of a greater man, a child who inherited his father'sbrilliant mind, fiery temper and willful passions. I loved him from themoment we met and in spite of all I know that he loved me with thestrongest, purest love he was capable of giving to any woman. And yet,dearest, I dare not tell you all I discovered of his wild, reckless life.The vilest trait of his character was transmitted straigh
t from sire toson--he would never ask forgiveness of any human being for anything he haddone--that is your grandfather's boast to-day. The old Governor, my child,was the owner of more than a thousand slaves on his two great plantations.Many of them he didn't know personally--unless they were beautifulgirls----"

  "Oh, mother, darling, have mercy on me!"--the little fingers tightenedtheir grip. But the mother's even voice went on remorselessly:

  "Cleo's mother was one of his slaves. You may depend upon it, yourgrandfather knows her history. You must remember what slavery meant, dear.It put into the hands of a master an awful power. It was not necessary forstrong men to use this power. The humble daughters of slaves vied with oneanother to win his favor. Your grandfather was a man of great intellect, ofpowerful physique, of fierce, ungovernable passions----"

  "But my father"--gasped the girl wife.

  "Was a handsome, spoiled child, the kind of man for whom women have alwaysdied--but he never possessed the strength to keep himself within the boundsof decency as did the older man----"

  "What do you mean?" the daughter broke in desperately.

  "There has always been a secret about your father's death"--the motherpaused and drew a deep breath. "I made the secret. I told the story to savehim from shame in death. He died in the cabin of a mulatto girl he hadplayed with as a boy--and--the thing that's hardest for me to tell you,dearest, is that I knew exactly where to find him when he had not returnedat two o'clock that morning----"

  The white head sank lower and rested on the shoulder of the frail youngwife, who slipped her arms about the form of her mother, and neither spokefor a long while.

  At last the mother began in quiet tones:

  "And this was one of the reasons, my child, why slavery was doomed. The warwas a wicked and awful tragedy. The white motherhood of the South wouldhave crushed slavery. Before the war began we had six hundred thousandmulattoes--six hundred thousand reasons why slavery had to die!"

  The fire flashed in the gentle eyes for a moment while she paused, and drewher soul back from the sorrowful past to the tragedy of to-day:

  "And so, my darling, you must see your husband and forgive. He isn't bad.He carried in his blood the inheritance of hundreds of years of lawlesspassion. The noble thing about Dan is that he has the strength of characterto rise from this to a higher manhood. You must help him, dearest, to dothis."

  The daughter bent and kissed the gentle lips:

  "Ask him to come here, mother----"

  She found the restless husband pacing the floor of the pillared porch. Itwas past two o'clock and the waning moon had risen. His face was ghastly ashis feet stopped their dreary beat at the rustle of her dress. His heartstood still for a moment until he saw the smiling face.

  "It's all right, Dan," she called softly in the doorway. "She's waiting foryou."

  He sprang to the door, stooped and kissed the silken gray hair and hurriedup the stairs.

  Tears were slowly stealing from the blue eyes as the little wife extendedher frail arms. The man knelt and bowed his head in her lap, unable tospeak at first. With an effort he mastered his voice:

  "Say that you forgive me!"

  The blonde head sank until it touched the brown:

  "I forgive you--but, oh, Dan, dear, I don't want to live any more now----"

  "Don't say that!" he pleaded desperately.

  "And I've wanted to live so madly, so desperately--but now--I'm afraid Ican't."

  "You can--you must! You have forgiven me. I'll prove my love to you by alife of such devotion I'll make you forget! All I ask is the chance toatone and make you happy. You must live because I ask it, dear! It's theonly way you can give me a chance. And the boy--dearest--you must live toteach him."

  She nodded her head and choked back a sob.

  When the first faint light of the dawn of a glorious spring morning beganto tinge the eastern sky he was still holding her hands and begging her tolive.