There was silence. Only round Myfanwy's full lips showed a certain impatience, a weariness for this necessary fuss to subside, and leave room for common sense.
"So you have no excuse. Then prepare for the condemnation of the congregation. Prepare to be humbled to the dust before the Lord."
Myfanwy shifted impatiently. "What good will that do? It will only humble the congregation," came her clear, full voice; "It will only be a paragraph in the papers."
Morris Pugh winced. "I thought of that before," he muttered. "God forgive me, I thought of it before--too much, perhaps. No!" he added firmly, "the shame must be faced! Yes, Mervyn, it must be faced, even if our mother----"
And then, with a cry, Morris Pugh himself was on his knees by the table, his hands clutching at its rim, his head between them sinking to the very dust.
"Oh, God forgive him! Oh God, for my sake, for her sake, forgive him!--for the sake of her many prayers and tears, forgive him!"
Mervyn stood pale as death. Alicia, her little part long since played, sobbed softly in a corner; only Myfanwy looked at them all three almost with distaste.
"Mervyn is very sorry, I am sure of that--it could not have been worth all this--this fuss," she said hardly; "but why should shame be faced when--when every one is dead and buried? Mervyn can go away."
"The living and the dead are one, woman, in the sight of the Lord!" replied Morris, his righteous wrath re-aroused by her words. "Mervyn may go if he likes, but I, his brother, will denounce him before the congregation."
His lips, his hands, were trembling, but his voice was firm.
Mervyn sat down on the sofa again and covered his handsome face with his hands. His mind was in a whirl, its chief thought being abject remorse for his brother's sake--for his mother's.
"It is best so, Myfanwy," he muttered hoarsely; "Go--it--it is all I can do for--for them now."
She took up her cloak and hat without a word. There was no use in trying to persuade people when they were so exalted.
"Yes, I will go," she said, "but you are very silly, Mervyn. Come, Alicia! You have done enough mischief for one day, I am sure."
Alicia followed her meekly, feeling not in the least ashamed of the rôle she had played; for these violent emotions were to her part of the religious stock-in-trade. By and by they would quiet down, Mervyn would make a noble confession, and eventually he would rise superior to all these troubles; above all, rise superior to Myfanwy.