might be brave enough to confess it all, and--and not try to escape
from the punishment that I deserve. But he would know--he cannot see,
nor hear, nor speak, but he would know--as he seems so strangely, so
wonderfully, so supernaturally to know and understand everything. And,
oh, he means so much to me, to us all, for it is he, more than any one
else, who has saved us from--from what we were. And he loves us. It
would shatter his faith, ruin all that his life has meant to him,
and--and we cannot bring him grief and sorrow like that. Oh, what can we
do! What _can_ we do! We cannot stop--and we cannot go on! We cannot
stay here even if we returned the money successfully, and we cannot stay
here if we kept it as it is; for things would still have to go on as
they are, even if we didn't mean to steal any more, no matter what we
might say or do, for it's beyond our control now, and to stay means that
we should still have to live and lead our double lives, still have to
practise hypocrisy and deceit, and--and I cannot--we cannot do that any
more. And the only way to get away from it all is to run away--and we
can't do that, either! There is--the Patriarch. We cannot leave him--to
break his heart--with none he loves to care for him. We can't do that.
He is a very old, old man, and--and I think he has been happy with us,
and--and we must make him happy always as long as he lives. We cannot go
away and leave him. We can't do that." Then, in a heartbroken,
despairing cry: "We can't do--_anything_!"

No one answered her. She had begged Madison to go over it all again--and
she had summed it up herself. There was--the Patriarch.

There was utter silence in the room now, save only for that low, solemn
boom of distant surf--for Madison had stopped his nervous pacing up and
down, and stood now by the Patriarch's armchair gazing into the
fireplace.