“I was not thinking of your rights, but of the happiness of us all.”
Lady Belward limped to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You have had one great tragedy, so have we: neither could bear another. Try to be worthy—of your home.”
Then she solemnly kissed him on the cheek. Soon afterwards they went to their rooms.
CHAPTER IV. AN HOUR WITH HIS FATHER’S PAST
In his bedroom Gaston made a discovery. He chanced to place his hand in the tail-pocket of the coat he had worn. He drew forth a letter. The ink was faded, and the lines were scrawled. It ran:
It’s no good. Mr. Ian’s been! It’s face the musik now. If you
want me, say so. I’m for kicks or ha’pence—no diffrense.
Yours, J.
He knew the writing very well—Jock Lawson’s. There had been some trouble, and Mr. Ian had “been,” bringing peril. What was it? His father and Jock had kept the secret from him.
He put his hand in the pocket again. There was another note—this time in a woman’s handwriting: