“Fine!—brave!” he says contemptuously.
“Who had never done a thing wrong, or been disobedient in any way till he fell into temptation that was too strong for him—”
“Bah! I could have forgiven that. But for him to have turned thief!”
I was silent, for his words seemed to take away my breath.
“Man, man!” he cried, “how could you be such an idiot as to write that document and leave it where it could be found?”
“I did it for the best, sir,” I said humbly.
“Best? The worst,” he cried. “No, no; I cannot forgive. Disgrace or no disgrace, I must have in the police.”
“No, no, no!” I cried piteously. “He is your own son, Sir John, your own son; and it is that wretched woman who has driven him mad.”
“Mad? Burdon, mad? No; it is something worse.”
“But it is not too late,” I said humbly.