“And suicide,” Ronan added. “You can at any rate swear to the absence of that in our family——” but, happening to glance at the mirror as he spoke, he caught in it a reflection of his uncle’s face, that at once made him turn round.
“Uncle!” he cried. “Tell me! What is it? Why do you look like that?”
Mr Malachy was silent.
“You’re hiding something,” Ronan exclaimed sharply. “Tell me what it is. Tell me, I say, and for God’s sake put an end to my suspense.”
“You are right, Ronan,” his uncle responded slowly. “I am hiding something, something I ought perhaps to have told you long ago. It’s about your father.”
“My father!”
“Yes, your father. I have always told you he was lost at sea. Well, so he was, but in circumstances that were undoubtedly mysterious. He was last seen alive on the wharf at Annan, where he was apparently waiting for a boat to take him to the opposite coast. Someone said they saw him suddenly leap in the water, and some days later a body, declared to be his, was picked up in the Solway Firth.”
“Then it was suicide,” Ronan gasped. “My God, how awful! Was anyone with him at the time?”
“I don’t think I need tell you any more.”
“Yes, tell me everything,” Ronan answered bitterly. “Nothing makes any difference now. Let me hear all, I insist.”