And so, for that, and for that alone, I bound myself to the Treaty--stood
pledged to do my utmost to see it through: a different thing, that, from
telling the truth. Was I wrong, Tumulty--was I wrong?
TUMULTY. No, no, Governor! You did everything a man could--under the
circumstances.
EX-PRES. I have said that often to myself: and I hope, sometimes, that it
may be true. But a man who gives up anything of the truth, as he sees it,
for reasons however good--can he ever be sure of himself again?... It's a
new thing for me to ask another man if I have done wrong. But that's the
way I feel: I don't myself know. And once, once, I was so sure--that I was
right, and that I should win!
(_The situation has now become one which the friendly Tumulty would like
to control, but cannot. As a "soul-stirring revelation of character" he
finds it, no doubt, immensely interesting; but to be thus made Father
Confessor of the man whom he has followed with humble and dog-like
devotion, knocks the bottom out of his world altogether. Moreover, he has
received "domestic orders," and is not properly obeying them; and so,
dominated by the stronger will, he glances apprehensively, now and again,
toward the door, hoping that it may open and bring relief, but himself
sits and does nothing. Meanwhile, insistent and remorseless at
self-examination, the Ex-President continues to wear himself out_.)
When a man comes really to himself, Tumulty--sees clearly within--does it
help him toward seeing also what lies outside, beyond, and ahead--make him
more sure that, as regards others, he has done right? I don't know--I
would give my life to know--if what I did, when all else had failed, was
best.
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