England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Husband and wife -- Fiction; Siblings -- Fiction
And as I uttered the three words which are the greatest lever of power,
both human and Divine, which the world has ever known--those words
whereby Man is permitted to control the Actions of even God Himself--I
knew that at last the door had been opened to Him Who stood outside and
knocked. Once again the Galilean had conquered.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LAST OF THE WILDACRES
I wrote to Isabel that I had changed my mind, and that I consented to
have Frank at Restham for his convalescence: but I asked her to make it
quite clear to him that I felt it as impossible now as I did two years
ago to forgive him for having come between my wife and myself. I did
not want to have him at the Manor on false pretences that everything
was going to be smoothed over and made easy for him, as it had been
always before: for even if such condoning of his fault had been
possible on my part (which it was not), I knew him well enough to
realise that it would be extremely bad for him.
The fiat had gone forth from the altar of Restham Church on the
occasion of my marriage with Fay: "Those whom God hath joined together
let no man put asunder." Frank had done his best to put asunder two
Divinely united persons, and had succeeded. Therefore I felt it was
but meet that he should be punished as he deserved. To be allowed to
sin with impunity is the most terrible curse that can fall on the head
of any man: and I had no intention of becoming the instrument whereby
this curse should be directed to the head of Frank Wildacre.
Isabel sent him down to Restham in her car, and it was on a gloomy
autumn day that he arrived. I met him at the door, and at the first
moment was struck afresh by his marvellous likeness to Fay: it seemed
almost as if my dead darling had come back to me, and for a second I
was well-nigh unmanned. But after Jeavons had helped him in and laid
him down on the large Chesterfield by the hall fire, I saw that he was
not as much like Fay as I had at first thought. Both the Wildacres had
always been slight and slender, but it was the slightness and
slenderness of perfect health: now Frank's thinness amounted to
positive emaciation, and his face was pinched and peaked. Moreover, he
had lost that appearance of essential and eternal youth which had been
so marked a characteristic of him and of Fay, and without which he
hardly seemed a Wildacre at all.
But in one thing he was unchanged, and that was in his perfect ease of
manner and absolute unself-consciousness. Although I could see that it
required all his self-control to enable him to respond naturally to my
greeting, as indeed it required all my self-control to give it,
nevertheless he succeeded: and I could not help admiring the pluck and
courage of the boy when I remembered how much lay between his departure
from the Manor and his return to it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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