The master thought a moment in silence. “Yes,” he said at last. “I think you do. It is having a wider, a deeper effect than I have realized.... But he, poor boy, has suffered, and I have so often, so uncharitably, made him suffer; while those, whom I have not liked, Morris, young Deering, and others, have been kind. It is terrible to me, sir, now to think of that suffering.”
“Yes, my friend, yes; I think it must be. You have been hard, too hard; but, thank God, righteousness comes of suffering. I can see, oh, in so many ways, how poor Finch’s suffering is teaching us all a lesson, teaching us a truer religion, a sweeter, kinder philosophy of life.”
“As I said,” Mr. Roylston resumed, “I was hard on him, hard on Deering, whom poor Finch worshiped with passionate adoration. And I accused Finch of cheating—he had not sometimes been strictly honest—but on that occasion, I misjudged him—wounded him deeply—he may have resisted a keen temptation. At any rate, worn-out, half-crazed, quite desperate, he came to me that night and made a passionate attack on me. His language was ill-tempered, ill-judged, violent!—but the awful part of it to me is, that in substance his accusations were justified. I had been, as he told me, so terribly cruel, hard, mean. I could not end the scene, unseemly as it was; for my conscience was accusing me more bitterly, more deeply, more violently than that poor half-crazed lad.... At last, scarcely knowing what to do, I sought to bring him to you.... At the very door of this room, he turned and fled. I feared he meant, as he had practically threatened, to destroy himself. And but for Deering how nearly he succeeded!”
“Yes, yes,” said the Head Master gently, “I see, I see....”
“And I have,” continued Mr. Roylston, “I have too been hard on Deering—have not acknowledged in him the qualities—manliness, honor, unselfishness—which I have known were there. He gladly sprang to the chance of laying down his life for the poor little abandoned wretch for whom I could not find a kind word. God forgive me, Doctor, I cannot forgive myself.”
“God does forgive you, my friend,” said the Head, without looking up. He had been gazing into the fire, thinking deeply.
Mr. Roylston did not reply to this remark, and for a few moments both men sat in silence, staring into the fire, absorbed in their thoughts.
It was Doctor Forester at last who spoke again. “It would be easy, my friend, to assure you that you exaggerate, that you do yourself injustice; and, in truth, I think you do. But I have no wish to urge that view upon you; for I believe, to be quite frank, that there is a poor weaker side to all of us that we never have a chance of conquering altogether unless we recognize it, and if for a long time we have not recognized it or have deceived ourselves, nothing is so good for us as a frank confession. As for the details of the incidents to which you refer, of course I am in ignorance, and I prefer to be. So far as I have observed your treatment toward Finch, it merited no criticism; and as for your attitude toward Deering, I have nothing to say that I did not say the night we discussed his appointment to the Head Prefectship. I thought you severe but not unjust. As a matter of fact, if you feel now that you could wish you had taken another course, I may tell you that I do not think the fact that Deering is not Head Prefect has in the least interfered with his popularity or his influence with the boys. Clavering has made him his right hand man.”
“I am glad of that,” said Mr. Roylston.