Though my work was done for that night, I would not leave the bank; for I thought he might come back. And back he did come, a full hour after, steady and grave and not like my master. For, Mr. Clarkson, the bright boy-look I had loved so, which, with the boy-nature too, had never seemed to leave him, was all gone out of his face, and I knew surely I never should see it there again. He wrote something quickly, then handed it to me, bidding me send telegrams to the bank trustees as there ordered. The slip which bore my direction bore also the words, with just a pencil-line erasure through them, “Go on. I consent to all your terms.” So, for good or for ill, whichever it might be, the other was the one he must have sent.
These telegrams notified the trustees of a most important meeting to which they were summoned, and at that meeting I had, as usual, to be present. Perhaps his colleagues saw no change in him; but I, who had served him long, saw much. O Mr. Clarkson, Mr. Clarkson! whatever you may be—and you are young still—be honest. For, sir, there’s one thing of many terrible to bear, and it’s got to be borne here or hereafter by them as err from uprightness; and that thing is shame. I’d seen him kneel at the altar that morning, and she beside him, bless her! That’s where he got strength to endure the penance he had brought upon himself; else I don’t know how he ever could have borne it or have done it.
They sat there about him where they had often sat before, those fifteen country gentlemen, some of whom had been his father’s and his uncle’s friends, and some his own schoolmates and companions. And he stood up, and first he looked them calm and fearless full in their faces, and then his voice faltered and stopped, and then they all felt that it was indeed something beyond ordinary that was coming.
Don’t ask me to tell my master’s shame as he told it, without a gloss or an excuse, plain and bald and to the point. I knew and they knew that there was excuse for his loving and lavish nature, but he made none for himself.
Well, there’s no hiding what all the world knows now. He had let himself be led away into speculation and—God pity and forgive him!—into fraud, till only ruin or added and greater sin stared him in the face; then, brought face to face with that alternative, he had chosen—just ruin, sir.
There was dead silence for a space, till Sir Jasper Meredith, the oldest man there, and the justest business man I ever met, said gravely: “Do you realize, Mr. Brent, that this implies ruin to others than to you?”
He was not thinking of himself, though this trouble would straiten him sorely; he was thinking, and so was my master, and so was I, of poor men, and lone women, and children and babies, made penniless at a blow; of the works stopped; of hunger and sickness and cold. Mr. James bowed his head; he could not speak.
Then I had to bring out the books, and we went carefully over them page by page. It was like the Day of Judgment itself to turn over those accounts, and to read letters that had to be read, and to find out, step by step, and in the very presence of the man we had honored and trusted, that he had really fallen from his high place. He quivered under it, body and soul, but answered steadily every question Sir Jasper put to him; spoke in such a way that I was sure he as well as I thought of the last great day, and was answering to One mightier than man. And presently, when they had reached the root of it—well, Mr. Clarkson, it was sin and it was shame, and I dare not call it less before God; yet it was sin which many another man does unblushingly, and had he persisted in it—had he only the night previous sent that message, “Go on”—it was possible and probable that he could have saved himself. Yet, if I could have had my choice then or now, I would rather have seen him stand there, disgraced and ruined by his own act and will, than have had him live for another day a hypocrite.
But Sir Jasper said never a word of praise or blame till the whole investigation was ended; listened silently while Mr. James told his plan to sell all he owned in Brentwood, pay what debts he could, and then begin life over again abroad, and work hard and steadily to retrieve his fortunes, that he might pay all and stand with a clear conscience before he died. Then Sir Jasper rose and came to him, put his two hands on Mr. James’ shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes. “James Brent,” he said, “I knew your father before you, and your father’s father, but I never honored them more, and I never honored you more, than on this day when you confess to having disgraced your name and theirs, but have had the honesty and manliness to confess it. Disgrace is disgrace; but confession is the beginning of amendment.”
That was all. There was no offer of money help; all Sir Jasper could offer would have been but a drop in the ocean of such utter ruin. There was no advice to spare himself before he spared his neighbor; Sir Jasper was too just for that. But after those words I saw my master’s eyes grow moist and bright, and a gleam of hope come into his face. My poor master! my poor master! Thank God we cannot see the whole of suffering at the beginning!