Endor, however, was a rock. “I cannot, I will not, lend myself to cold-blooded murder. It is true that at a time of severe overstrain, I made certain vows. And it is true that I have chosen to break them. But having done so deliberately, I am now ready to pay a full price for the privilege.”
Such a finality of tone moved Helen to tears. Hierons, also, was deeply affected.
“You ought to think of others,” said Helen, piteously. “The world must not lose you. Does your life, your work, mean nothing?”
Endor raised his hands to his face with the gesture of a man driven beyond his strength. But he did not speak.
As Helen and George Hierons stood watching him, a sense of utter despair came upon them. They now shared in common a desolating thought. Even in a world in which Good was submerged, it seemed possible to pay too high a price for the hope of dethroning Evil.
LIV
HELEN and the American had a sudden craving for fresh air. For both the restriction of four walls had grown intolerable. Endor’s wife begged her friend as he was leaving the house to let her walk with him some of the way towards his hotel.
Hierons readily assented.
Devoured by pity for a brave woman, he was also devoured by pity for a brave man. Loyal as he was to the Society which he had sincerely believed to be necessary to the world’s governance and which he had done as much as any man to call into being, he saw now that its methods had been pushed too far. But with bitterness of soul he realized that he could do nothing. Like Endor himself he was caught in a tragic coil of Fate’s weaving.
The morning was fine, the pavements were dry, and the sky was reasonably clear for December in London. For some time they walked in silence. They had become great friends, these two. There was more between them than the tie of nationality. On vital issues their minds marched together. Their outlook on life was the same.