I looked at him with my throat swelling.
“I’ll not refer to it, if you wish it,” I said, gently.
“I do wish it. What does it amount to? How could I do less?”
“Very well, dad. I’ll keep my gratitude in my heart.”
“Gratitude!” He seemed greatly excited. His voice was broken with emotion. “Gratitude to me? For what? For driving you from home? For dealing out your inheritance piecemeal to that hungry vulture yonder? You kill me with your cruelty.”
“Father!” I cried, amazed.
“No, no, Renalt! You don’t mean to be! But you mustn’t talk of it—you mustn’t! It’s a long knife in my soul—every word! The one thing I might have done for you—I failed in. The wild girl, Renalt; that you loved—oh! A little more watchfulness on my part, a little less selfishness, might have saved her for you!”
He broke down a moment; then went on with a rough sob: “You think I love you, and I want you to think it; but—if you only knew all.”
“I know enough. I hold you nothing to blame in all you have referred to.”
He waved me from him, entreating me to leave him alone awhile, and he was so unstrung that I thought it best to comply.