Was It Right to Forgive? by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (classic book list txt) 📕

to-night--if he comes to-night, which I doubt. That siren has him in a net, he will go to the opera to see her dance; he will forget Yanna, and then, to-morrow, he will talk of a headache--or an important engagement--and Yanna will despise him far more than if he told the whole truth. To-morrow, of course, for I am sure he will not come to-night; and it is Yanna's last night in the city, too. Men take the heart out of you if you mind their goings-on."

Miss Alida was right. Harry did not call, and Peter sat and talked with Miss Alida, worrying a little all the time about his daughter's sickness. And he was glad when Yanna sent to ask him if he could be ready for the early train; for Peter felt that the end of the visit had come, and that no pleasure could be obtained by drawing out what was already finished. So, while it was yet very early in the morning, Peter and Yanna went away; and Yanna was unavoidably sad, and yet, in the midst of her sadness, she was conscious of that strange gratification which we may call a sense of completeness. Even to the painful events of her visit, it gave her that bitter-sweetness that all experience when they watch a lover out of sight or the last red spark die out of the gray ashes that were once love letters. One chapter of life was finished. Yes, she told herself, quite finished in some respects. She had watched Harry leave her in a way that she felt must be final. And Antony and Rose had gone to their own life. When they returned, Antony would be changed, and Rose would be changed, and she also would be changed. Nothing could ever again be just as it had been.

A few hours after Peter and his daughter had left the city, Miss Alida was sitting with an open book in her hand. Her life had not been without love and lovers, and she was remembering rather than reading when she saw Harry coming up the steps to the door. She knew that he expected to take lunch with Adriana and then go with her to the Railway Station; and she smiled faintly at the disappointment in store for him. As he came near the parlor door, she let her eyes fall upon the book, and she did not lift them until Harry said:

"Reading, Cousin Alida! Pray, what interests you so early in the day?"

"For my sins, I am reading a philosophical novel. Our very story-tellers are getting serious and instructive; and as I read for amusement, I shall turn to Talmage's sermons."

"Where is Yanna?"

"Yanna left for Woodsome early this morning. She is at home by this time."

"That is too bad! She promised to let me go to the train with her."

"She expected you last night."

"I could not possibly come. I was ever so sorry."

"Why could you not come?"

"I was engaged--unexpectedly--and I was not feeling right. You know very well there are things that a man must attend to, whether he wants to do so or not."

"Harry Filmer! You are a worse moral coward than the first of your kind. You cannot even say: 'The woman beguiled me.' Generally speaking, a man in a mess can get out of it by throwing the blame on the woman with him."

"Oh, if it comes to that, I hope I am not cad enough to put my sin on any woman. How much do you know, Miss Van Hoosen? Who has been telling tales?"

"We were in the Park yesterday afternoon, and we met you driving with----"

"I know. Was Yanna with you?"

"Yanna was with me."

"Confusion! What did she say?"

"Not much. She went home by the first train this morning."

"She will never forgive me!"

"I should say, never."

"I did not mean that. She will be angry, of course, but she will not be angry forever. I am awfully sorry to-day. But how can I tell her so? What would you do? Come now, cousin, you are a sensible woman, and you know men must have a little latitude--and really, I was caught so suddenly--and if you would listen, you would understand that there is some excuse for me."

"None at all, sir! What is temptation for but to resist?"

"I thought I would just take a short drive, and be here to dinner, but I was not very well."

"You mean that you dined and drank wine with Madame Z----, and that you could not come afterwards."

"She would not let me leave her, and so----"

"I thought you would get as far as Adam before you were through with your apology. 'She would not let me!' Just so."

"It is too bad to take me up so quickly, when I am distracted with shame and sorrow. What shall I do?"

"I would advise you to go to Woodsome and tell Yanna so. She may forgive you, but I doubt if she will ever love you again."

"She cannot help loving me. And if she loves, she will forgive."

"Do not be too sure of that. Yanna has the stubbornness of the Dutch moral character, and her conscience is strictly Calvinistic. She finds it very hard to forgive her own little peccadillos."

"Are you also angry, cousin? You have seen life, and you ought to make allowances."

"Right is right, Harry Filmer; and wrong is wrong, even to me; and I am angry and greatly disappointed with you. I have looked forward with so much pleasure to your marriage with Yanna, for you see, sir, it was to me not only a union of hearts and hands, but a union of lands. Yanna is to have all I possess, and if you inherit your father's land, old Peter Van Hoosen's estate will be nearly intact again. Now that simple, conscientious old Dutchman is my hero. His likeness hangs in my private sitting-room, and I have constantly promised him that I would try and put the land he loved all right before I joined him. You need not look at me, Harry, as if you thought I were crazy. I can tell you that there is a motive in working to please the dead, which working for the living has nothing to match. Anyway, they are not always overturning your best-laid plans."

"I was only astonished, cousin."

"Whenever I manage to buy back an acre, I feel it to be a joy beyond most earthly joys to stand before the mighty-looking old burgomaster and say: 'Another acre put right, Father Peter.' And the canvas speaks to me, and I dream of the old man, and I know that he knows; and that is all about it! So then, you see, I am not the only one you have disappointed. I am sure your ancestor is thoroughly ashamed of you this day."

Miss Alida spoke with a singular calm intensity, and Harry was affected by it. Some one tugged at his heart-strings whom he had never before thought of, and he said humbly: "I am sorry! I am very sorry! I will go and see Yanna to-day."

"Not to-day. Wait a little. Write to her first. She must have time to understand herself. I expect my friend Selina Zabriski to-morrow, and after her arrival I shall not be long in the city. When I return to Woodsome, I will speak to Yanna for you. I do not say she ought to forgive you, but I will ask her to do so. And I do not thank you, Harry Filmer, for making me plead such a case. And you need not thank me, for I am afraid there is more expediency than sympathy in my offer."

Fortunately, a man's own soul is his best oracle, if he will but listen to it; and Harry's inmost feeling was that he ought to go and see Yanna. He went by the first train, the next morning; and walking up to the Van Hoosen house, he came unexpectedly upon Peter, who was standing by a large oval bed of magnificent tulips.

"Sir," said Harry, "I want to speak to you. I must tell you something at once, or perhaps I may not have the courage to tell you at all. I have offended Yanna; and she has a right to be very angry with me. I made an engagement to dine with her on the last evening she was in the city, and instead of keeping it I went driving with another lady, and afterwards dined with her. I have no excuse to offer. I was simply met by a sudden temptation, and conquered by it. But I am sorry. I repent the folly most sincerely; and as far as I can promise for myself, I will never repeat it."

Peter stood looking at the young man. He spoke with a nervous impetuosity, as if he feared he might not say all he wished unless he said it at once. His handsome face was flushed and serious, his voice full of feeling; and the hurry of his journey added to his general air of uncomfortable solicitude. There was something very attractive about the penitent youth; and such anger as Peter had felt melted under the warm, anxious gaze which accompanied his entreaty.

For even while Harry was saying: "I have no excuse to offer. I was met by a sudden temptation and was conquered by it," the voice of the inner man was thus instructing Peter: "Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted!"[1] So that, when Harry ceased speaking, Peter put out his hand to him and said:


[1] Galatians 6, 1-2.


"Let us walk down the avenue, Harry. It is evident that while you were going quietly on your way, thinking no evil, temptation, for which you were quite unprepared, presented itself, and before you knew, you were in the dust, fallen. Well, then, you were 'overtaken in a fault,' and the large charity of the Law of Christ tells me that in such case the sinner is to be forgiven. It tells me, also, to forgive in the spirit of meekness; for anger is sin, Harry, and sin cannot drive out sin. I like your confession of fault; it comes from a desire to be true; and I do not think you will find Yanna more unforgiving than you deserve."

"I will try not to err in the same way again, sir."

"Do not; for just as a noble character is slowly elaborated by a constant repetition of virtuous acts, so a base character is the result of a perpetual repetition of unworthy ones. You cannot, therefore, afford to do things which compel you to say frequently: 'I have sinned, and I am sorry.'"

"I trust that I know the value of a good character, sir."

"Indeed, Harry, character pure and high is the best thing a man can have. To have got it is to have got all; to have missed it is to have missed all."

"I had no pleasure in my fault. I should have been infinitely happier with Yanna."

"Pleasure seekers are never pleasure finders. Pleasure seekers are always selfish; and self never yet sufficed for self. The essence of all sin is the making of self the centre, round which we would have everything revolve. To be delivered from this desire is the turning-point in