"Oh, my God!" he said. "My punishment is greater than I can bear. For that one deed of wrong, of cowardice, must I suffer this?"
He went into the dressing-room and bathed his head in cold water. It seemed to him as though his brain were on fire. A few minutes later he felt better. He could think again. He sat in an arm-chair beside the fire and reviewed the past. His mind went back to the time when he, a free-hearted lad, went on a walking tour with some other fellows among the English lakes, and then on to Scotland. He had been full of good resolutions, and his heart was light and free. He had meant no harm when he made Jean Lindsay love him, but he had never dreamt of what would follow. And then, then all the ensuing events passed before his mind in ghastly procession. What must he do?
In spite of everything, Judge Bolitho believed himself to be a religious man. He had identified himself with religious movements, had professed himself a believer in prayer. In one sense he was a man of the world, keen as far as his profession went, eager for his own advancement. But in another he had held fast to the faith of his childhood. He had had a religious training, and while both his father and mother had died when he was young, he had never forgotten their teaching, and had never been able to shake himself free from early associations.
Almost like a man in a dream, he knelt down by the chair and tried to pray. What must he do? Life was a tangle, but he entangled it yet farther himself. He, by his own act, had made everything difficult, terrible, tragic. His conscience was roused within him, and as he prayed he seemed to see, as though in a vision, the road he ought to take.
"No, not that!" he cried. "Not that! Great God, not that! I could not do it! I could not do it!"
He rose from his knees and began to pace the room. His mind was clear enough now, for God had spoken.
"But I cannot do it," he said. "If I do what seems right, I shall bring pain, disgrace on so many. No, I cannot do it! It cannot be right to do right! It cannot!"
And still he paced the room, struggling, fighting, and sometimes offering wild, inarticulate prayers.