He snarled at her like a surly dog. "Wish it? I! Good Heavens above, if I had my way I'd never let him marry at all! But unfortunately circumstances demand it; and the boy himself—the boy himself, well—" his voice softened imperceptibly, rasped on a note of tenderness, "he wants looking after; he's young, you know. He'll be all alone very soon, and—it isn't considered good for a man to live alone—not a young man anyway."
He broke off, still looking hard at Avery from under his drawn white brows as if daring her to dispute the matter.
But she said nothing, and after a moment he resumed more equably: "That's all I have to say on the subject. I wish you to understand that for the boy's sake—and for other considerations—I have withdrawn my opposition. You can marry him—as soon as you like."
He sank down again on his elbow, and she saw a look of exhaustion on his face. His head drooped forward on his chest, and, watching him, she realized that he was an old, old man and very tired of life.
Suddenly he jerked his head up again and met her pitying eyes.
"I'm done, yes," he said grimly, as if in response to her unspoken thought. "But I've paid my debts—all of 'em, including this last." His voice began to fail, but he forced it on, speaking spasmodically, with increasing difficulty. "You sent my boy back to me—the other day—against his will. Now I—make you a present of him—in return. There's good stuff in the lad,—nothing shabby about him. If you care for him at all—you ought to be able to hold him—make him happy. Anyway—anyway—you might try!"
The appeal in the last words, whispered though they were, was undisguised; and swiftly, impulsively, almost before she knew what she was doing, Avery responded to it.
"Oh, I will try!" she said very earnestly. "I will indeed!"
He looked at her fixedly for a moment with eyes of deep searching that she never forgot, and then his head dropped forward heavily.
"You—have—said it!" he said, and sank unconscious upon the ground.