'It is best to face it,' said the young man, with slow and feeble utterance, but with no quailing of eye or voice. 'But oh, father! I did not think you would feel it so much. I am not worth it.'
For the Earl could neither speak nor breathe, as if smothered by one mighty unuttered sob, and holding his son's hand between both his own, pressed it convulsively.
'I am glad Mrs. Ponsonby is here,' said Louis; 'and you will soon find what a nice fellow Edward Fitzjocelyn is, whom you may make just what—'
'Louis, my own boy, hush! I cannot bear this,' cried his father, in an accent wrung from him by excess of grief.
'I may recover,' said Louis, finding it his turn to comfort, 'and I should like to be longer with you, to try to make up—'
'You will. The leeches must relieve you. Only keep up your spirits: you have many years before you of happiness and success.'
The words brought a look of oppression over Louis's face, but it cleared as he said, 'I am more willing to be spared those years!'
His father positively started. 'Louis, my poor boy,' he said, 'is it really so? I know I have seemed a cold, severe father.'
'Oh, do not say so!' exclaimed Louis; 'I have deserved far less-idle, ungrateful, careless of your wishes. I did not know I could pain you so much, or I would not have done it. You have forgiven often, say you forgive now.'
'You have far more to forgive than I,' said the Earl.