“Go, my boy; I think he will be in condition to see you. Go!”
Father and son walked to the front door together, the arm of the former across the shoulders of the latter. Then the boy went out into the darkness and hurried away.
Don feared he would not be admitted to see Dolph, but his fears were groundless. There was some delay, and he waited anxiously in the hall; then the maid came and conducted him to Renwood’s room.
Dolph was there, reclining on a Morris chair, wrapped in a dressing-gown. He was pale, and there was a bandage about his head. He looked at his visitor in speechless inquiry, while Don stood with his head bowed and his face flushed with shame.
Renwood was the first to speak. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, “for I’m aching to tell you just what I think of you; but I declare I didn’t think you’d have the crust to show yourself here!”
His voice was full of the scorn and contempt which the persistent injustice of his enemy had aroused to its fullest extent. The other lad shrank a bit, lifting one hand.
“That’s right!” he hoarsely exclaimed; “you can’t say anything too mean about me, call me what you like! I deserve it all—and more!”
Renwood was astonished by this altered attitude of his enemy, but fancied it was fear of reprisal that had brought the boy who dealt the blow hurrying to see him. However, before he could say anything further, Don went on:
“I thought I was right in hating you, for I had been led to believe you a sneak and a traitor. I have a nasty temper that it has been impossible for me to govern in the past, but I’ll master it in the future—or die! You have every reason to hate and despise me; but you cannot hate and despise me more than I hate and despise myself. I thought I had killed you, and I suffered just what I merited. But even then I did not know what a miserable wretch I was till I went to see Bentley in the lock-up and heard his confession.”
Renwood’s wonder was growing, for this humility and repentance were so genuine that his doubts were dying.