She began to see that if in the mad impulses of that mad
nightmare of horror, they had all strengthened each other, and dared to
be frank and open, confessing a great fault, a greater disaster, a
greater woe--which in the first instance was hardly a crime--their future
course, though sad and sorrowful, would have been a simple and
straightforward one to tread. But it was not for her to undo what was
done, and to reveal the error and shame of a father. Only she, turning
anew to God, in the solemn and quiet watches of the night, made a
covenant, that in her conduct, her own personal individual life, she
would act loyally and truthfully. And as for the future, and all the
terrible chances involved in it, she would leave it in His hands--if,
indeed (and here came in the Tempter), He would watch over one whose life
hereafter must seem based upon a lie. Her only plea, offered "standing
afar off" was, "The lie is said and done and over--it was not for my own
sake. Can filial piety be so overcome by the rights of justice and
truth, as to demand of me that I should reveal my father's guilt."
Her father's severe sharp punishment began. He knew why she suffered,
what made her young strength falter and tremble, what made her life seem
nigh about to be quenched in death. Yet he could not take his sorrow and
care in the natural manner.
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