But in this quiet
hour she came and stood beside him.
Hugh had in the past leaned heavily on extenuating circumstances. He had
made many excuses for himself. But now he made none. Perhaps, for the
first time in his life, under the pressure of that merciful, that benign
hand, he was sincere with himself. He saw his conduct--that easily
condoned conduct--as it was. Love and Repentance, are not these the
great teachers? Some of us so frame our lives that we never come face
to face with either, or with ourselves. Hugh came to himself at last. He
saw how, whether detected or not, his sin had sapped his manhood, spread
like a leaven of evil through his whole life, laid its hideous touch of
desecration and disillusion even on his love for Rachel. It had
tarnished his mind; his belief in others; his belief in good. These
ideals, these beliefs had been his possession once, his birthright. He
had sold his birthright for red pottage. Until now he had scorned the
red pottage. Now he saw that his sin lay deeper, even in his original
scorn of his birthright, his disbelief in the Divine Spirit who dwells
with man.
Nevertheless his just punishment had been remitted. Hitherto he had
looked solely at that punishment, feeling that it was too great. He had
prayed many times that he might escape it.
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