He paused, chafing. "You must let me go. I shall hurt you if you don't."
"You will hurt me if I do, boy," Lucas made grave reply.
"I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't help it. There are times when a man—if he is a man—must act for himself. And I—" he broke off, still chafing, his hand seeking without violence to free him from that hold which could not have been so very powerful, though it resisted his efforts. "Luke," he said suddenly, and the anger was gone from his voice, "let me go, old chap. You must let me go. It isn't right—it isn't just to—to take advantage of being—what you are."
The quick falter in the words deprived them of any sting, yet on the instant Lucas's hand fell, setting him free.
"All right, Bertie! Go!" he said.
And Bertie went—three steps, and halted. Lucas remained motionless before the fire. He was not so much as looking at him.
Several seconds passed in silence. Then impulsively Bertie turned. His lips were quivering. He went straight back to the quiet figure on the hearth, lifted the free arm, and drew it boyishly round his neck.
"Old chap, forgive me!" he said.
"For what you haven't done?" Lucas asked, with a very kindly smile.
"For being an unconscionable brute!" Bertie said, with feeling. "I didn't mean, it, old man. I didn't mean it!"