“Yes, sir, with her helpless infant.”
The old man sank back again with a harsh catching of the breath, and they sat in silence gazing one at the other, as if trying to get breath for the encounter to come.
Uncle Paul was the first to speak.
“I’m—I’m not angry now, Trethick. I’m going to be very humble, and appeal to you.”
“Indeed!” said Geoffrey, over whose countenance a very stern, stubborn look began to make its way.
“Yes, yes. I’m going to appeal to you. I beg your pardon, Trethick, if I have said or done any thing to hurt your feelings. I’m very, very sorry I was so cruel to the poor child last night, but it came upon me like a shock, and the disgrace seemed to madden me. I have a hot, bad temper, I know; but, poor child, I’ll forgive her—forgive you both.”
“Thanks,” said Geoffrey, mockingly; and he was about to speak, but refrained, as the old man made an effort and rose from his chair to go behind Trethick, and stand there silently for a few moments as if to master his voice before laying a hand upon the young man’s shoulder.
“I did wrong, Trethick, when I brought you up here—very wrong. I ought to have known better, but I did it in a mean, selfish spirit to save my own money, when I had plenty for all.”
“Indeed!” said Geoffrey, coldly, and a set frown came upon his brow.
“Yes, it was an ill-advised step, and I am punished for it. But, Trethick, my lad, in my rough way I do love my poor, dead brother’s wife and child, and, God knows, I would sooner have been a beggar than have seen this disgrace come upon them.”