“On the very day that the news of my boy’s supposed death reached me,” John Swinton continued, 326 more firmly, “an infamous charge was made against him. While on all sides praises of his bravery were being noised abroad, I learned that a warrant had been issued for his arrest. A respected member of this congregation, Mr. Barnby, the manager of the bank, was with me in the moment of my sorrow, and, with great consideration for my feelings, made no further reference to the misdemeanor my son was supposed to have committed. Let me tell you at once that my boy was innocent of the forgery of which you have all heard—innocent! Ah! you are surprised. You have heard the story—garbled, no doubt—how he presented to the bank two checks for small amounts which had been altered into large ones—the checks signed by his grandfather, Mr. Herresford. Such an act would have been infamous, and, when I fully understood the charge, I knew it was false. The bank had been defrauded, certainly, but not by my son. There was another culprit; and that culprit was known to me.”
At this declaration, there was a louder murmur, and more shuffling of feet, as people leaned forward in the pews, and the old men put their hands to their ears for fear of missing a single word.
“While it was believed that my son was dead, no action could be taken. But tongues were busy circulating the slander, and the noble heroism of my boy was put into the shade, and forgotten. His 327 name became a byword, his memory odious, and we, his parents, dared not mention him. Yet, all the time, I knew him to be innocent, and I held my peace. That was the sin of which I desire to purge myself by public confession. I allowed my boy’s name to be dragged in the mire, in order to shield another dearer to me than my dead son. My life was a lie—a daily treachery. For the sake of the living, I consented to dishonor the dead, and live in wedlock with the woman who was afraid to speak, afraid to suffer and to atone. I can’t explain to you all the circumstances, and make you realize the crying need for money which led my unhappy wife—God bless her, and forgive her, sinner though she be—to take that one false step in the hope of lightening the burdens that were pressing upon me and my son. My financial embarrassments have been well known to you for some time past. There was no secret about them. Much of my own indebtedness was due to foolish ventures for the good of the poor of this town. Money, for its own sake has never had any value to me; and I have been a bad steward of my own fortunes. I now have to confess to you that my dear wife thought to ease the family burden by an act of sin, lightly regarding the fraud as merely a family matter. The money she secured by unlawful means was, from her point of view, mere surplus wealth belonging to her father—wealth 328 in which she had a reversionary interest. Indeed, we now know that she had more than reversionary interest—that Mr. Herresford, who died to-day—”
The murmuring and whispering and hoarse exclamations of astonishment at this announcement interrupted the preacher’s discourse for a moment.
“—that Mr. Herresford unlawfully withheld from her a very large income, left by his wife. He is dead—God rest his soul!—and in this hour, when his clay is scarcely cold, it behooves us to be charitable, and to speak no ill of him; but that much I must tell you.
“My son, as you know, escaped from his captors, and reached the United States, only to find that the police were waiting for him, with a warrant for his arrest. His bravery was forgotten. His supposed crime was now branded on his reputation in letters deeper by far than those that told the other tale as to his heroism. He came home, ill and broken, to me, his father, and demanded an explanation of the foul slander that had shattered his honor. I told him the truth, that his erring mother was the culprit. And the boy was merciful, and ready to bear disgrace for his mother’s sake. Even now, he would have me close my lips. But there is a duty to One on High.”
The rector paused, and put his hand to his breast. 329 He was silent for a few moments, with closed eyes, and his face, which a few moments before had been flushed with excitement, paled to an ashen gray. He was silent so long that the congregation became uneasy. One or two arose to their feet. The clergyman put forth a hand blindly for support, as though about to faint; but he recovered slowly, and, after resting for a few moments on both hands, continued his discourse in a lower key.
“There are many among you here, loyal husbands and wives, who will think that, under the circumstances, I ought to have remained silent, cherishing the wife of my bosom and protecting her from the rough usage of the world. Alas! in heaven, where there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage, no distinctions are allowed. Sin is sin; right is right; and justice is justice. No young man at the outset of his life should be blasted and accursed among men because his father and mother, into whose hands God has given the care of his soul, are too weak to stand by the consequences of their wickedness and folly. The sin of the woman in the beginning was a small thing—evil done that good might come of it. The sin of the father—my sin—was ten times greater. I consented to, and acted, the lie: I, who lived in an atmosphere of sanctity—a hypocrite, a cheat, a fraud, admonishing sinners and backsliders—I, the greatest of them all. 330
“I will not enter into particulars of the inevitable prosecution for forgery, which must follow this declaration. Jealousy and spite have been imported into a plain issue; but the matter is now out of my hands. I—have—confessed! The rest is with the Lord.”
The rector raised his arms, and flung them outward, as though casting off the mantle of deceit under which he had shielded himself—the heavy cloak that had bowed his shoulders till he looked like an old man. The arms that were flung upward did not descend for many seconds. His head was thrown back, looking upward, and he swayed.