"My boy," he cried, "forgive me! Have pity upon me!"
"Oh, I do!" said Philip, clasping his hand and holding it in a grasp like a vise, while the tears came into his eyes. "I pity you, father; I pity you with all my heart!"
"Does your mother know all this?" inquired Sidney after a while.
"She knows something," he answered, "but not through me; and she has not spoken to me. I made up my mind to see you and tell you all before you met her."
"That was right," said Sidney.
There was another silence, for their hearts were too full for words, and their thoughts were busy. It was Sidney who spoke first.
"It would break your mother's heart to know all," he said, "and we must not acknowledge this man as my son. Listen to me before you speak. He is a man now; and he would be miserable if we took him away from all his old surroundings, his home, and his friends. It would be good for him to remain as he is. I will make him a rich man; richer than any of his neighbors. But he must not come to England; he cannot take your place. Does anyone but you know that he is my son?"
"No," answered Philip.
"Then for the sake of everyone concerned we must keep this secret to ourselves," continued his father. "I would not ask you to do it if we had to sacrifice this man's happiness or welfare; but he would be tenfold happier and better off here, in his own place, than in England as my son and heir. That must not be, Philip. Do you think he could be otherwise than wretched in England?"
"He is wretched now," said Philip, as the recollection of the poor, persecuted outcast of the little hamlet came vividly to his mind.