"Why did you never tell me?"
He flashed the rebuke at the old man, but the dark eyes under the heavy white brows only looked at him the more steadily and did not flinch, as if they would tell him to look to himself for an answer to his question.
The steady gaze did its work. It was the Nemesis before which his pride and self-esteem fell. His glance went from the righteous face of the old man to the pure and beautiful eyes of the boy, now frowning with disapproval, and he dropped into a chair with a groan.
"I have been wrong!" he said, and bowed his head, the last atom of his pride rent away from him. There beside the dead, great scorching tears of bitterness found their way to his eyes, washing away the scales of blind conceit, and bringing clearer vision. Mary Montgomery was vindicated in the eyes of the man who had wronged her.
But the baby frowned and cried softly:
"Hush, bad man! You go away! You wake my pitty muvver! She's 's'eep!"
The strong man shrank from the child's words as from a blow, and looked up with almost a pleading on his usually cold face. But the old man watched him sternly.
"Yes, it is enough. You may go. There is nothing more to be said. Now you understand. This is why I sent for you. It was her right."
"But," said the stricken man, and looked toward the sleeping one in the coffin, "may I not wait until——"
"You have no right," the old man answered sternly, and the young man turned away with a strange wild feeling tearing his throat like a sob.