The silence was almost painful. After Hugh had blurted out his confession, he seemed like one incapable of speech, as his eyes were riveted on his father's face. Neither did he feel that there was anything for him to say. I had told Hugh, on my way up to the house, that he must not expect me to plead for him. It was not my business to interfere between father and son. Indeed, I felt like an intruder all through the painful interview. As for Josiah Lethbridge, he sat in the leather-covered library chair, close by his writing-desk, motionless, for what seemed an interminable time. Then, as if by force of habit, he took a pen, and began to draw grotesque figures on the blotting-pad. He was evidently thinking deeply. Outside the night was windless, and no sound reached us save that of the roll of the waves upon a distant beach.
"Dad," burst out Hugh at length, "have you nothing to say?"
The older man moved in his chair slowly, and as if with difficulty.
"What is there to say?" and his voice was hard and cold.
"Well, I thought that—that——" And then Hugh broke down.
"What is there to say?" repeated Josiah Lethbridge in the same cold, even voice. "You know what my views are, you know what my wishes are. I have told you more than once my plans about you; but it seems that you thought yourself wiser than I. Or perhaps," he added, "you do not care about my wishes. That is why you have gone and married a penniless girl who can never be anything but a drag to you—married her, too, senselessly, madly, without a shadow of reason for doing it."
I saw then that the thing which had wounded him most deeply was not the fact that his son had joined the Army, but that he had married a poor village girl—married her in spite of his wishes, in spite of his positive command.
"You have acted in a very honorable way, too, haven't you?" he sneered. "Knowing what my feelings are in the matter, you take the irrevocable step first, and then come and tell me afterwards."
"But, dad, don't you see?" and Hugh spoke excitedly. "Yes, I ought to have spoken to you first, perhaps; but then I knew you would not give your consent, and—and I could not bear to lose her. You see, I—I love her!"
"Love her!" and Josiah Lethbridge spoke contemptuously.