"And what did she say?" he asked.
"She talked like a girl who has read nothing but novels," he replied, evading a more direct answer.
And now, as Sidney saw his son standing before him, such a son as his whole heart could take delight in, the thought of disinheriting him in favor of the untrained and probably untamable savage, who possessed his birthright, came back to his mind with irresistible force. It seemed impossible to do it. This boy, whom he loved with passionate ardor, to be displaced by a man whose existence was a shame and a sorrow to him! He himself was in the prime of life—too old to retrieve the past and shake off its burden, and too young to escape from its consequences for many years—years of comparative dishonor and of keen disappointment. His voice was broken as he spoke again to his son.
"Philip," he said, "must we sacrifice all? Is there a necessity to own this man?"
"Yes," he answered unhesitatingly.
"I cannot see it," said his father. "I am like one walking in darkness. My conscience says nothing, except that I have sinned. If I do this I act by your mother's conscience."
"And mine," responded Philip. "My mother and I have but one mind about it."
"I will yield to you," he said, "but my punishment is greater than I can bear."
They went on their way down into the valley; and Sidney told him of the perilous place in which Martin had taken refuge, and the opinion his guide had given that the poor fellow must be dying of famine. It was impossible to attempt anything that evening, but the next morning at sunrise, Philip said, a scaling party must go to the precipice and ascend it, under his own directions. He was a member of the Alpine Club; and to leave any fellow-creature perishing through hunger and faintness from wounds would be infamous. He must hasten to make his preparations, and learn who were the most courageous and adventurous guides.