Atonement -- Fiction; Clergy -- England -- Fiction; Illegitimate children -- Fiction
In response there burst into the room a lad in knickerbockers,
broad-shouldered, muscular, yet smooth-faced, and mild-eyed all his
nineteen years; but this was the supreme moment of them all; and his
woman's eyes were on fire as he planted himself before the rector and
his lamp, pale as ashes in its rays.
"Is it true?" he gasped. "Is it true?"
This lad was Carlton's chief disciple, his admirer, his imitator, his
enthusiastic champion and defender; his right hand in all good works;
nay more, his acolyte, his lieutenant of the sanctuary; and, before a
broad chest so agitated, and innocent eyes so wild, the culprit's
courage failed him at last, so that the truth clove to his tongue.
"It's all over the village," the lad continued in gasps. "You know what
I mean. They're all saying it. They say you've admitted it; for God's
sake say you haven't! Only deny it, and I'll go back and cram their lies
down their throats!"
But by this Mr. Carlton had recovered himself, and was looking his last
upon the anxious eager face of the lad who had loved and honoured him:
his final pang was to see the eagerness growing, the anxiety lessening,
his look misunderstood. And this time the admission was halt and hoarse.
What followed was also different; for, with scarcely a moment's
interval, young Mellis burst into tears like the overgrown child that he
was, and, flinging himself into the rector's chair, sobbed there
unrestrainedly with his smooth face in his strong red hands. Carlton
watched him by a prolonged effort of the will; he would shirk no part of
his punishment; and no part to come could hurt much more than this. His
fixed eyes were waiting for the boy's swimming ones when at length the
latter could look up.
"You, of all men!" whispered Mellis. "You who have kept us all
straight--me for one. Why, the very thought of you has helped me to
resist things! You, with your religion: no more religion for me!"
At that the other broke out; his religion he could still defend; or
thought he could, until he came to try, and his own unworthiness slowly
strangled the words in his throat.
"Say what you like," said Mellis; "it was you brought me to church; it's
you who turn me away; and I'll go to no other after yours. Only to
think----"
And he plunged into puerile reminiscences of their religious life in
common, quoting extreme points in the rich ritual in which he had been
privileged to assist, as though they aggravated the case, and made it
more incredible than it was already.
"If our Lord Himself----"
It did not need the rector's finger to check that blasphemy; but the
thing was said; the thought was there.
"Yes; better go," said Carlton, as the lad leapt up. "Go; and let no one
else come near me who ever believed in me; for I can better face my
bitterest enemies. Yet you--you must be one of them! After her own
father, no man should hate me more!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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