The man whose reticent nature had aroused this conversation was just waking from a fretful sleep when his son entered. He was a tall, spare man with an aristocratic air and a fine head, who was wont to walk the streets as if the whole town belonged to him, and who had been spoken of as “the Squire” from his earliest manhood. Now his proud head lay low, and his once self-satisfied countenance wore a look that caused a pang to strike the heart of his son, before the unrest visible in his whole figure could find vent in words.
“What is it, father? You look distressed; cannot something be done to relieve you?”
The man who had never been known to drop his eyes before anyone slowly turned his face to the wall.
“There is no help,” he murmured; “my hour has come.” And he was silent. Clarke moved uneasily; he hardly knew what to do. It seemed cruel to disturb his father at this moment, and yet his conscience told him he would be wrong to delay a communication that would set him right in his own eyes. The father settled the matter by saying abruptly: “Sit down, I have something to say to you.”
Clarke complied, drawing a chair close up to the bedside. He knew that one of his father’s peculiarities was a dislike to raising his voice. For a moment he waited, but the father seemed loath to speak. Clarke therefore remarked, after a certain time had passed:
“Nothing you can say to me will fail of having my respectful attention. If I can do anything to relieve your cares—” The look which his father here turned upon him startled him from continuing. Never had he seen such an expression in those eyes before.
“Can you go so far as to forgive?” the old man asked.
“Forgive?” echoed Clarke, hardly believing his ears. “What is there I have to forgive in you? The benefits you have bestowed upon me, the education I have received and your fatherly care?”
“Hush!” the half-lifted hand seemed to entreat and a shadow of the old commanding aspect revisited the ashy countenance before him. “You do not know all that has happened this last year. I have ruined you, Clarke, ruined your mother; and now I must die without having the opportunity of retrieving myself.”
Surprised out of his usual bearing of profound respect, Clarke sprang to his feet.