That studio had been always a forbidden place to them, and had, therefore, its air of enchanting mystery.
“Won't you really mind my coming?” he asked.
“I shall probably hate it,” answered his uncle; “but there's nothing I wouldn't do for the family.”
The boy walked to his father's study and knocked on the door. He did have then, at the sound of that knock, a moment of panic. The house was so silent, and he knew so well what would follow the opening of the door. And the worst of it was that he was not sorry in the least. He seemed to be indifferent and superior, as though no punishment could touch him.
“Come in!” said his father.
He pushed open the door and entered. The scene that followed was grave and sad, and yet, in the end, strangely unimpressive. His father talked too much. As he talked Jeremy's thoughts would fly back to the coal-black horse and to that moment when he had seemed to fly into the very heart of the stars.
“Ah, Jeremy, how could you?” said his father. “Is obedience nothing to you? Do you know how God punishes disobedience? Think what a terrible thing is a disobedient man!” Then on a lower scale: “I really don't know what to do with you. You knew that you were not to go near that wicked place.”
“You never said—” interrupted Jeremy.
“Nonsense! You knew well enough. You will break your mother's heart.”
“I'll tell her I'm sorry,” he interrupted quickly.