CHAPTER V.
THE ACCUSATION.
Rupert pulled himself together and looked at Sir Reginald. "I have nothing to say, sir."
"Nothing to say!" Clenching his fists Dale strode towards his son as if intending to strike him.
With a gesture Sir Reginald stopped the old man and waved him back. "Gently, gently! You must keep calm, Mr. Dale. I am sure, on consideration, your son will see the advisability of making a clean breast of this affair."
Old John Dale controlled himself and stood quite still, folding his arms across his chest. Until now he had scarcely taken his eyes off his son's face. He was afraid to look any longer lest instead of the boy he had loved and for whom he had worked and made so many sacrifices—he saw a thief, a criminal.
There followed a silence. To each man present it seemed interminably long, but neither father nor son dared break it. They were standing almost opposite one another. The younger man held himself very erect, his head thrown back; he was looking straight at Sir Reginald Crichton, resentment in his eyes. Sir Reginald, seated at his bureau, was obviously embarrassed and ill at ease. Judging from appearances their positions should have been reversed.
"Come, won't you speak?" the latter said in a more kindly voice. "For your father's sake, Mr. Rupert, and your sister's—as well as for your own."
"I have told you I have nothing more to say. I know nothing about it."
Sir Reginald raised his eyebrows, and picking up a pencil commenced to tap it thoughtfully on the edge of the bureau.