‘Yes, should,’ echoed Frederick Walcheren, moodily; ‘but the question is if I do! Don’t blame yourself, Rhoda. You have put things in a new light before me, and I thank you for it. I will go home and think over the matter again. After all, you are right! What real good would this man’s swinging do me? It cannot restore my murdered wife nor my own peace of mind. I should be none the better for it.’
‘I am sure you would not, and especially if you had been the means of bringing him to justice. It would only add another link to your chain of sorrow. Besides, Fred, it would cast, as it were, a blot on your ministry. I feel shy of touching on such a delicate subject, but you will stand even this, I know, coming from me. The first fault, my dear, was your own. Had you not married that young lady without the consent of her parents, she would never have been placed in so dangerous a position. This man would not have followed her, and she would have had no chance of enraging him. There have been faults on all sides. How can you tell, if you had been placed under the same circumstances as this wretched murderer, whether you might not stand at this moment in the same position? You know I am not attempting to defend him. His crime excites the greatest abhorrence in my eyes, especially as it has so cruelly hurt you. But I cannot help feeling the same about all murderers—that, but for God’s grace, we might have encountered the same lot. How many hasty blows are given, how many more intended—any one of which might, if dealt a few inches nearer or farther, cause death instead of mere pain. You say this man told you that his life had been a curse to him ever since—that he was in despair. Is that not sufficient punishment for his sin? What can be more terrible than a life of remorse? The gallows would be preferable a thousand times over. Don’t try to hurry him out of the world before he has repented and tried to make such amends as may be in his power. Perhaps God may send the thought to him. Perhaps your leniency may have the same effect! At any rate, Fred, whatever may be his ultimate fate, don’t you have a hand in it! Don’t, for the sake of the old days!’
The tears were standing in her bright eyes as she leaned across the table and put her hand upon his arm. He placed his own hand over it.
‘Were the old days very dear to you, Rhoda?’ he asked.
‘You know they were, but it is of no use talking of it. Since your lot in life is fixed, it would be foolish to revert to the time when you thought otherwise from now. I hear your voice, and fancy I have got my old friend again, but, when I look at you, dressed in that strange manner, and with your beautiful brown hair cropped off, I can hardly believe you are the same Fred I knew. And it is best so, is it not?’
‘But what I am afraid of, Rhoda, is that my face and clothes are the only things that are changed about me. That is one thing I wanted to talk to you about. I fear I have made a terrible mistake in becoming a priest. You see, this time last year, I was so mad with grief, the shock I experienced had so shattered my nerves, that I was not myself. All I wanted was to find forgetfulness, even at the sacrifice of worldly good. My friends and relations worked largely on my frame of mind, by assuring me the peace I longed for was to be found only in the Church. My mother and godfather had intended me for that profession, and I was in too despondent a state of mind to care what they did with me, or made of me. So I drifted into ordination, not from a love of God, but of despairing grief for my great loss. And now, I am sure, I am unfitted for it. I am not nearly good enough. My thoughts and desires are all with the world I have left. I have no vocation for the ministry. What am I to do? Tell me, Rhoda. I have faith in your sincerity and purity of teaching. Don’t consider anything, except how I can please Heaven best. I don’t want to please myself so much, as not to disgrace my calling.’
‘If you ask my advice, Fred, I can only give it in the words of your favourite Shakespeare:—
“To thine own self, be true!
It follows, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”’