"The letter is wonderful, so far," was his sole remark, "but it is a great pity that it ends so abruptly. I suppose your father will personally relate all other details, Claude, when you see him again."
The young man assumed a sitting position, and deliberately finished his wine before replying to this remark. He looked anxious and disturbed, and, now that he had recovered from the overwhelming surprise at finding his father alive, seemed less delighted than he should have been. A miracle had been wrought in his behalf; the dead had been restored to life; but he was by no means gratified by the occurrence.
"I don't know whether I shall see my father again," he said shortly.
"But, my dear friend——"
"Oh, I know all you would say," interrupted Claude hastily, with a frown; "but I am not prepared to admit your arguments. My mother is alive, my father is in existence, yet for twenty-five years I have looked on them as dead. Can you, then, wonder that I feel awkward toward them both; that I am by no means disposed to render them that filial affection which, you must admit, they but ill deserve?"
"The question is so delicate that I can only hold my peace," said Tait, after a pause. "I admit what you say. Still they are your own flesh and blood."
"I might answer you as Hamlet did on a like occasion," replied Claude, with a bitter smile; "but a quotation will not mend matters. What I have to consider is the advisability of seeing my father again."
"You must certainly see him again," said the other promptly.
"Why?"
"In the first place he is your father, whatever you may say, and in the second you had better tell him personally that you abandon further investigation of the case. After all, your object is gone; for though you might want to avenge the death of a parent, the murder of a scamp like Jeringham can matter nothing to you."