All that night I tossed and tossed, in vain effort to court the sleep that should quench the fever in my racked and bewildered brain. My errand had been a failure. In every sense but the purely personal, it had been a failure. And now, indeed, that personal side was the one that least concerned me. As to every other soul in whom I was interested, it seemed that a single false step on my part might lead to the destruction of any one of them. Where could I look for the least comfort or assistance?
My father had glanced anxiously at me when I returned the evening before.
“It has been as you prophesied,” I said. “The man is a devil.”
He gave a heavy sigh and drooped his head.
“What did he tell you?” he muttered.
“He told me lies, father, I feel sure. But he is too cunning a villain to play without a second card up his sleeve.”
The old man raised imploring eyes to my face.
“Dad!” I cried, “is it true you have bought his silence all these years for my sake?”
At that he rose to his feet suddenly.
“No word of that!” he shrieked; “not a word! I can’t bear it!”