Chapter II – Father and Son unfolds within the silent walls of Hermiston, where distance defines the relationship more than any shared blood. Adam Weir, Lord Justice-Clerk, governs not only the court but also his household with the same sternness and absence of warmth. His role as a judge has consumed whatever gentleness may once have lived in him, leaving behind a man whose affection is buried beneath command. His son Archie, bright and perceptive, senses this void from early childhood. Though provided for and instructed in proper form, he is never drawn into his father’s world in a way that feels human. Instead of stories of kindness, he is given accounts of grisly murders as bedtime conversation—offered with pride, not horror. Where one man sees justice, the other sees only its cold aftermath. That difference plants a seed of quiet rebellion in Archie that continues to grow.

As Archie matures, his path begins to stray from what Lord Hermiston considers proper. Encouraged by the thoughtful Lord Glenalmond, Archie develops a love for philosophy, literature, and ethics—subjects his father finds weak and irrelevant. Adam, unaware or unwilling to understand, assumes his son’s reluctance to enter law is laziness or softness. In truth, Archie’s discomfort lies in the brutal finality he sees in his father’s work. Their rare moments of conversation are marked more by sarcasm and reprimand than genuine engagement. Even when Adam attempts to draw his son closer, his methods betray his nature—relying on blunt humor and dismissive judgments to bridge a divide too wide for words alone. Archie, increasingly isolated, begins to view his father not just as a stranger but as a symbol of everything he cannot become.

At dinners hosted by Adam, where legal minds and harsh laughter fill the room, Archie finds himself shrinking inward. These gatherings, meant to demonstrate camaraderie among men of the bench, only deepen Archie’s detachment. He watches his father laugh at cruelty and dominate conversations with sharp jests, all while remaining blind to his son’s silent disapproval. The divide is not caused by hatred, but by mutual incomprehension. Adam sees his son as overly delicate and impractical. Archie sees his father as emotionally absent and morally numbed. Neither is entirely wrong, but neither can reach across the gap. This unspoken stalemate grows heavier with each passing season, turning misunderstandings into quiet resentments.

Though Lord Glenalmond becomes a mentor to Archie, filling the void left by Adam’s emotional absence, this does little to change Adam’s stance. In fact, the more Archie is shaped by Glenalmond’s calm and thoughtful example, the more Adam senses a kind of betrayal. He cannot name it, but it irks him that his son finds ease with another man where he finds only pressure at home. Yet Adam does not confront this feeling; instead, he responds with his usual gruffness and scorn. When he does speak of his son, it is often to colleagues—framed in terms of disappointment or confusion rather than concern. Archie, meanwhile, avoids confrontation altogether. His resistance is silent, his defiance lived out through subtle choices and withheld affections.

What makes their relationship so tragic is not a lack of intelligence or good will, but a failure to recognize love in unfamiliar forms. Adam does care, but he does not know how to show it without disguising it as duty. Archie longs for approval but cannot accept it when it comes through judgment instead of understanding. Their inability to speak honestly to one another becomes the quiet heartbreak of their home. Neither is the villain in this dynamic; both are shaped by different times, values, and needs. Yet the silence between them speaks louder than any harsh word ever could. What remains is a bond not broken by hate but by incompatibility, as each man drifts further from the other, hoping the other might someday turn back.

This chapter becomes more than a domestic reflection—it becomes a lens through which generational divides are examined. Stevenson doesn’t only tell the story of one strained relationship; he exposes how societal expectations harden men against their own families. Archie’s struggle for a self-defined identity under the weight of legacy becomes the emotional core of the novel. Through every uneasy glance and unmet gesture, we see not just conflict, but the ache of people who cannot reach each other across the invisible walls they’ve built. It is not a question of blame, but of loss—of what’s missed when pride and silence speak louder than love.