CHAPTER II.
And my father pushed aside his books and rose hastily. He took off his spectacles and rubbed them mechanically, but he said nothing, and my uncle, staring at him for a moment, in surprise at his silence, burst out,—
“Oh! I see; he has been getting into some scrape, and you are angry. Fie! young blood will have its way, Austin, it will. I don’t blame that; it is only when—Come here, Sisty. Zounds! man, come here.”
My father gently brushed off the Captain’s hand, and advancing towards me, opened his arms. The next moment I was sobbing on his breast.
“But what is the matter?” cried Captain Roland. “Will nobody say what is the matter? Money, I suppose, money, you confounded extravagant young dog. Luckily you have got an uncle who has more than he knows what to do with. How much? Fifty?—a hundred?—two hundred? How can I write the check if you’ll not speak?”
“Hush, brother! it is no money you can give that will set this right. My poor boy! Have I guessed truly? Did I guess truly the other evening when—”
“Yes, sir, yes! I have been so wretched. But I am better now,—I can tell you all.”
My uncle moved slowly towards the door; his fine sense of delicacy made him think that even he was out of place in the confidence between son and father.
“No, uncle,” I said, holding out my hand to him, “stay. You too can advise me,—strengthen me. I have kept my honor yet; help me to keep it still.”