"Satisfied!" cried Chaytor, trembling in every limb. "When your insane speculations have ruined us!"
Then he fell into a chair and began to sob. He had the best of reasons for tribulation. With his mind's eye he saw the prison doors open to receive him. It was not shame that made him suffer; it was fear.
Again, and for the last time, he went to his mother for help.
"What can I do, my boy?" quavered the poor woman. "What can I do? I haven't a shilling in the world."
He implored her to go to his father. "He can save me," cried the terror-stricken wretch. "He can, he can!"
She obeyed him and the father sent for his son.
"Tell me all," he said. "Conceal nothing, or, as there is a heaven above us, I leave you to your fate."
The shameful story told, the father said, "Things were looking up with me, but here is another knock-down blow, and from my own flesh and blood. I accept it, and will submit once more to be ruined by you."
"Bless you, father, bless you," whined Chaytor, taking his father's hand and attempting to fondle it. Mr. Chaytor plucked his hand away.
"There is, however, a condition attached to the promise."