“Are you Lory de Vasselot?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am your father.”
“Yes,” said Lory, slowly; “there is no mistaking it.”
CHAPTER VIII. AT VASSELOT.
“The life unlived, the deed undone, the tear unshed ...
not judging those, who judges right?”
It was the father who spoke first.
“Shut that shutter, my friend,” he said. “It has not been opened for thirty years.”