If Any Man Sin

by H. A. Cody

Martin did not at once reply to these words. He pushed back the stool upon which he was sitting, and drew forth his pipe. His mind was in a perturbed state. He had been dreading the coming of the time when Nance should wish to leave the Quaska valley. He had taught her for years, and she had responded to his teaching. He was proud of her, and he well knew that she could soon take her place in the great world beyond. There were many things, of course, which she would have to learn there in addition to what he had taught her. He had kept from her all knowledge of the Church, and of clergymen. Of them she knew absolutely nothing. She would naturally be astonished when they went outside, and would ask why he had not spoken to her about such things. What answer would he be able to give? At times during her reading Nance had come across various things about the Church, but as Martin had told her that it was merely a society of men and women she had thought nothing more about it then.

Martin dreaded, moreover, the idea of mingling again with many people. He tried to believe that all had forgotten him, and what he had done. But now he did not feel so sure, as he felt that some would remember. For himself he did not care so much. But suppose that Nance should hear of it! There were bound to be meddlesome people, who would consider it their duty to tell everything they knew. He had met such persons, who seemed to consider it a part of their religion to make it as uncomfortable as possible for any one who had stepped aside from the path of rectitude. He recalled the case of a young man who had slipped in life, and had spent several years in prison. Upon his release he determined to redeem the past. He obtained a position with a large firm, and was giving excellent satisfaction when several human vultures recognised him, and with hypocritical solicitude informed the manager about the young man's past life. The result was that he was discharged. The same thing occurred wherever he went, until, broken in spirit, he gave up the fight, and drifted into evil ways. He knew the people who had wrecked that young man's after life, and they firmly believed that they were doing the Lord's work.

This he well knew would be true in his own case. There would be some who would recognise him as the outcast clergyman, and who would consider it their unctuous duty to tell all they knew. Of course he and Nance could go to some place far off, away from the scene of his disgrace. But even there he would not feel secure. The world was small in these days of easy travel, and he might find it hard to escape unknown. The gold would supply all their needs. His only worry was as to how he could take so much outside. It would be very difficult to carry it without arousing suspicion.

While Martin was thus musing, Nance had cleared off the table, washed the dishes, and put them carefully away. When all had been completed, she drew the big chair up close to the fire. Then, going to where Martin was sitting, she laid her hand affectionately upon his shoulder.

"Come, daddy," she said, "your chair is all ready. It's more comfortable there."

Martin obeyed her without a word. Nance at once took up her position on a little stool at his feet, and rested her left arm upon his knee. For some time she gazed steadily into the fire without speaking. Martin, too, was silent as he sat there smoking away at his pipe.

"Daddy," Nance after a time began, "you are not my real father, are you?"

"No, little one, I am not," was the quiet reply. "You knew that, didn't you? But I've been a father to you, have I not?"

"Yes, and a mother, too. But I do long to know about my real father and mother. When I was little you told me that you would take me to them some day. I believed that then, but as I grew older I felt there was some reason why you did not do so. I have often longed for you to tell me the whole truth, but I was afraid to ask you."

"What were you afraid of, Nance? That I wouldn't tell you, eh?"