Sheila suddenly fell upon her knees before Oscar, and looked anxiously into his face. It was seldom indeed he had spoken to her quite so openly. A quick thrill of anxiety ran through her.
“Oscar, have you forgiven Cyril?”
“Yes,” he answered in a low voice. “Indeed, sometimes I think it is he who has to forgive me more than I him. For remember, Sheila, it was my carelessness that put in his way the opportunity—suggested, perhaps, the temptation. When I think of that, I feel that it is I who need the forgiveness.”
Sheila looked awed at the thought suggested—that terrible thought so often overlooked and set aside, that not alone to ourselves do we sin and do amiss; but that in some way or other our comrades and friends may become involved in our wrong-doing.
“‘Sic vos non vobis,’” quoted Oscar in a dreamy fashion. “I begin to understand those words, Sheila, as I never did before.”
“But it is rather dreadful, Oscar; it makes it seem as though our sins went on and on so!”
“Yes, that is what I want to understand better. Our sins are forgiven, but the effects of them so often go on and on. We must think of that, too, Sheila; it will help to make our faults hateful to us. It will make us more patient when we have to bear blame that we do not quite merit; for how much more blame do we deserve than we ever get!”
Sheila was silent a long time, looking up into Oscar’s face.
“And my plan?” she asked tentatively.
“Would be a selfish one,” answered Oscar quickly, “for it would hurt the feelings of our relations; and I think it would be a shirking of the discipline of life, which we both stand in so much need of, Sheila!”