"Woman."
My father turned, and looked John full in the eyes. Stern as that look was, I traced in it a strange compassion.
"Lad, I thought so. Thee hast found the curse of man's life—woman."
To my amazement, John replied not a syllable. He seemed even as if he had forgotten himself and his own secret—thus, for what end I knew not, voluntarily betrayed—so absorbed was he in contemplating the old man. And truly, in all my life I had never seen such a convulsion pass over my father's face. It was like as if some one had touched and revived the torment of a long-hidden, but never-to-be-healed wound. Not till years after did I understand the full meaning of John's gaze, or why he was so patient with my father.
The torment passed—ended in violent anger.
"Out with it. Who is deluding thee? Is it a matter of wedlock, or only—"
"Stop!" John cried; his face all on fire. "The lady—"
"It is a 'lady'! Now I see why thee would fain be a gentleman."
"Oh, father—how can you?"
"So thee knowest it too—I see it in thy face—Wouldst thee be led away by him a second time! But thee shall not. I'll put thee under lock and key before thee shalt ruin thyself and disgrace thy father."