“It all happened so quick, you see,” began Clyde nervously — hopelessly, almost, “that I’m not just sure.
No, I don’t know that I was so very sorry.
No.
I really don’t know, you see, now.
Sometimes I think maybe I was, a little, sometimes not, maybe.
But after she was gone and I was on shore, I felt sorry — a little.
But I was sort of glad, too, you know, to be free, and yet frightened, too — You see —”
“Yes, I know.
You were going to that Miss X.
But out there, when she was in the water —?”
“No.”
“You did not want to go to her rescue?”
“No.” “Tst! Tst! Tst!
You felt no sorrow?
No shame? Then?”
“Yes, shame, maybe.
Maybe sorrow, too, a little.
I knew it was terrible.
I felt that it was, of course.
But still — you see —”
“Yes, I know.
That Miss X.
You wanted to get away.”
“Yes — but mostly I was frightened, and I didn’t want to help her.”
“Yes! Yes! Tst! Tst! Tst!
If she drowned you could go to that Miss X.
You thought of that?”
The Reverend McMillan’s lips were tightly and sadly compressed.
“Yes.”
“My son!
My son!
In your heart was murder then.”
“Yes, yes,” Clyde said reflectively.
“I have thought since it must have been that way.”
The Reverend McMillan paused and to hearten himself for this task began to pray — but silently — and to himself:
“Our Father who art in Heaven — hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done — on earth as it is in Heaven.”
He stirred again after a time.
“Ah, Clyde.
The mercy of God is equal to every sin.
I know it.
He sent His own son to die for the evil of the world.
It must be so — if you will but repent.
But that thought!
That deed!
You have much to pray for, my son — much. Oh, yes.
For in the sight of God, I fear — yes — And yet — I must pray for enlightenment.
This is a strange and terrible story.
There are so many phases.
It may be but pray.
Pray with me now that you and I may have light.”