But, as I knew he would, the bishop brought with him an atmosphere of sanity and hopefulness. He did not attempt to minimise the gravity of our position when it was explained to him, but helped us to look the hard facts in the face.
“If the man has been arrested,” he said, “it seems to me that we are powerless. The whole of the facts are bound to come out. Your conduct,” he added, turning to me, “has of course been blameless, even, I should imagine, from the legal point of view. At least I do not quite see in what form any charge could be made against you. The extreme difficulty of the circumstances in which you were placed would of course be appreciated. I do not see how your action could be described as abetting, since you did all in your power to break up the conspiracy and defeat its ends.
“Your brother’s case is of course quite different. The fact that he had no direct financial interest in the sale of the drug is only an extenuating circumstance. You were aware of the whole transaction,” he said, addressing Edmund; “you aided in it, if only by helping to navigate the boat. I do not think there is the least doubt that a judge would take a very grave view of your offence, and of its effect on the prestige of the English in Egypt. In your case discovery would of course mean irretrievable disgrace, a punishment utterly out of all proportion to the real sinfulness of your act, at least as I see it. It is because of the injustice involved in that, in what would be the real sentence, and because of the damage that would be done to our countrymen in the East, that I feel we are justified in circumventing the law, if that be still possible.”
I could see the tide of humiliation pass across Edmund’s face, as he sat with folded arms, listening to the bishop’s calm judicial statement of the position, but when at last he looked up, I thought I saw in his eyes that it had been a cleansing tide.
“I am afraid,” he said very slowly, “it would be impertinent in me, my lord, to thank you for what you are doing, for what you have proposed to do, even for speaking to me, after you have known all this about me. God knows I understand now the rottenness of my whole life so far. If I could only keep my brother’s name out of it, I would rather that everything came out; I would rather take the punishment. I do not mind, since you and he think I might have made good still, if the chance had come. I can face everything but disgrace coming home to him. You know he has been more than any brother to me. I had forgotten what it was to be a gentleman. But if I have to make my new start in prison I shall act as one now. I can do it, since you believe I could. I wish I knew how to thank you.”
Edmund’s voice broke in a sob very painful to us to hear.
The bishop rose and went over to him. “My dear boy,” he said, laying a hand on his shoulder with an instinctive pastoral gesture, “you are welcome to thank me. I know it is a natural, wholesome desire. But you must understand that I am only trying to interpret what I believe to be our Lord’s attitude to sinners who repent. You have probably come to disbelieve in what is called prayer. Nevertheless prayer is a natural instinct implanted in all of us; a desire we cannot get rid of, whatever our beliefs or disbeliefs may be. I advise you to leave us now and go and yield to that instinct. Whatever may happen now we need say no more about this aspect of the case.”
As Edmund rose to obey him, the bishop took his hand for a moment in silence, and there was a look in his face that made me think of Him who rose “with healing in his wings.”
“Poor warped boy!” he exclaimed as the door closed; “there is a great capacity for goodness and nobility in him, all stunted by mere circumstance. Davoren, I feel that we must save him at almost any cost. Why should we desire the punishment even of this nefarious Arab? It will surely be better to make him ‘cease to do evil and learn to do well.’ Have you ever thought out the distinction between crime and sin?”
“I have never regarded them as necessarily related,” I answered.