第25章 A FORLORN HOPE(2)
I say that no man has a right to keep a woman's letters back from her years after any friendship there may have been between them is over. It is not the action of an honorable man. Sir Wingrave Seton has placed himself outside the pale of honorable men.""Your judgment," Aynesworth answered quietly, "seems to me severe. Sir Wingrave Seton has been the victim of peculiar circumstances."Barrington looked at his companion thoughtfully. He was wondering exactly how much he knew.
"You defend him," he remarked. "That is because you have not yet found out what manner of man he is.""In any case," Aynesworth answered, "I am not his judge. Mr. Barrington," he added, "You must forgive me if I remind you that this is a somewhat unprofitable discussion."A short silence followed. With Barrington it did not appear to be a silence of irresolution. He was leaning a little forward in his chair, and his head was resting upon his hand. Of his companion he seemed for the moment to have become oblivious. Aynesworth watched him curiously. Was he looking back through the years, he wondered, to that one brief but lurid chapter of history; or was it his own future of which he was thinking,--a future which, to the world, must seem so full of brilliant possibilities, and yet which he himself must feel to be so fatally and miserably insecure?
"Mr. Aynesworth," he said at last, "I suppose from a crude point of view I am here to bribe you."Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
"Is it worth while?" he asked a little wearily. "I have tried to be civil--but I have also tried to make you understand. Your task is absolutely hopeless!""It should not be," Barrington persisted. "This is one of those rare cases, in which anything is justifiable. Seton had his chance at the trial. He chose to keep silence. I do not praise him or blame him for that. It was the only course open to a man of honor. I maintain that his silence then binds him to silence for ever. He has no right to ruin my life and the happiness of my wife by subtle threats, to hold those foolish letters over our heads, like a thunderbolt held ever in suspense. You are ambitious, I believe, Mr. Aynesworth!" Get me those letters, and I will make you my secretary, find you a seat in Parliament, and anything else in reason that you will!"Aynesworth rose to his feet. He wished to intimate that, so far as he was concerned, the interview was at an end.
"Your proposition, Mr. Barrington," he said, "is absolutely impossible. In the first place, I have no idea where the letters in question are, and Sr.
Wingrave is never likely to suffer them to pass into my charge.""You have opportunities of finding out," Barrington suggested.
"And secondly," Aynesworth continued, ignoring the interruption, "whatever the right or the wrong of this matter may be, I am in receipt of a salary from Sr.
Wingrave Seton, and I cannot betray his confidence."Barrington also rose to his feet. He was beginning to recognize the hopelessness of his task.
"This is final, Mr. Aynesworth?" he asked.
"Absolutely!" was the firm reply.
Barrington bowed stiffly, and moved towards the door. On the threshold he paused.
"I trust, Mr. Aynesworth," he said hesitatingly, "that you will not regard this as an ordinary attempt at bribery and corruption. I have simply asked you to aid me in setting right a great injustice.""It is a subtle distinction, Mr. Barrington," Aynesworth answered, "but I will endeavor to keep in mind your point of view."Barrington drove straight home, and made his way directly to his study. Now that he was free from his wife's influence, and looked back upon his recent interview, he realized for the first time the folly and indignity of the whole proceedings. He was angry that, a man of common sense, keen witted and farseeing in the ordinary affairs of life, should have placed himself so completely in a false, not to say a humiliating position. And then, just as suddenly, he forgot all about himself, and remembered only her. With a breath of violets, and the delicate rustling of half-lifted skirts, she had come softly into the room, and stood looking at him inquiringly. Her manner seemed to indicate more a good-natured curiosity than real anxiety. She made a little grimace as he shook his head.
"I have failed," he said shortly. "That young man is a prig!""I was afraid," she said, "that he would be obstinate. Men with eyes of that color always are!""What are we to do, Ruth?"
"What can we?" she answered calmly. "Nothing but wait. He is going to America.
It is a terrible country for accidents. Something may happen to him there! Do go and change your things, there's a dear, and look in at the Westinghams' for me for an hour. We'll just get some supper and come away.""I will be ready in ten minutes," Barrington answered. He understood that he was to ask no questions, nor did he. But all the time his man was hurrying him into his clothes, his brain was busy weaving fancies.