Paul Desfrayne’s thoughts were in a kind of whirl, an entanglement which was anything but conducive to clear deliberation or calm reflection. They eddied and surged with deadly fury round one great rock that reared its cruel black crest before him, standing there in the midst of his life, impassive, coldly menacing.
Hitherto, with the exception of one fatal occasion, he had always consulted his mother on all matters of difficulty or perplexity. But now he must carefully conceal his real thoughts from that still beloved counselor. It was useless to go to her, as of yore, for advice as to the best course to take: he dared not tell her this miserable secret which bound him in a viselike grip. His mother would at once, he knew—unconscious that any link in the chain was concealed from her—say he must be mad not to accept, without hesitation, this trust. She would certainly urge him, for the sake of this unknown girl herself. He must decide now: it would, perhaps, only make matters worse if he delayed, or asked time for consideration.
Besides, if he refused, what rational reason could he assign to any one of those concerned for declining the trust?
No; he must agree to whatever was set before him now, although by so doing he would almost with his own hands sow what might prove to be the most bitter harvest in the future.
He was within a maze, wherein he did not at present discern the slightest clue to guide him to the outlet of escape. It was impossible to explain his position to any one, yet he felt that it was next to pitiful cowardice to march under false colors.
One thing was clear: if he could not explain his reasons for declining to accept what, while somewhat eccentric, was a fair and apparently tempting offer, he must be ready to take the place assigned to him. Not only was this self-evident, but also that no matter what time he must ask for reflection, his position could not be altered, and he could give no plausible excuse of any kind to his mother for rejecting such princely favors.
“This young lady is not—is not, then, acquainted with the contents of this will?” he asked, raising his head, and speaking somewhat wearily.
“Not as yet. We thought it best to wait until you could yourself make the communication.”
He might as well face the girl now, and have it over, as leave it to a month, six months, a year hence. He was a soldier, yet a coward and afraid; but he shut his eyes, as he might if ordered to fire a train, and resolved to go through with the task, which, to any other one—taken at random from ten thousand men—must have been a pleasant duty.
The lawyer regarded him with surprise, but could not, of course, make any remark. His wide experience had never supplied him with a parallel case to this: of a man receiving such rare and costly gifts from fortune with clouded brow and half-averted eye. The hopes, however, which had well-nigh died within his breast, of winning the one bright jewel he coveted, revived, if feebly.