“Father,” I said, “let him alone. It is true, what he says.”
He flung Jason from him with violence.
“Move a step,” he thundered, daring him, “and I’ll send you after Modred!”
He came to me and took me gently by the shoulder.
“Renalt, my lad,” he said, “I am waiting to hear.”
I did not falter, or condone my offense, or make any appeal to them whatsoever. The kind touch on my arm moved me so that I could have broken into tears. But my task was before me and I could afford no atom of self-indulgence, did I wish to get through it bravely.
As I had told my story to Jason, I told it now; and when I had finished I waited, in a dead silence, the verdict. I could hear my brother breathing thickly—expectantly. His fury had passed in the triumph of his own abasement.
Suddenly my father put the hand he had held on my shoulder before his face and a great sob coming from him broke down the stone walls of my pride.
“Dad—dad!” I cried in agony.
He recovered himself in a moment and moved away; then faced round and addressed me, but his eyes looked down and would not meet mine.