“Yes.”
“I don’t think I should like to be indebted to such a man,” said Gerald, and a stern expression settled on his young face. “I should not wish to accept any favors at his hands.”
“Nor would you. It would not be a favor, but the payment of a sacred debt. It would be reparation for a great wrong.”
“But, father, the reparation ought to have been made to you, not to me.”
“You are right, Gerald, but it is too late now.”
“Why did you not take steps before to have this wrong righted?”
“Because the world has misjudged me, and might misjudge me yet. This man should have needed no prompting. He should have saved me all trouble, and when he saw my life ruined, and my health shattered, he ought to have done what he could to pay me for the great service I did for him. I am afraid I was weak to yield to the temptation to help him in the first place.”
“Don’t say that, father,” put in Gerald.
“Yes, I will not try to disguise the truth from you,” went on the old man. “I was too pliant in this man’s hands. To be sure I committed no crime, but then I allowed a false impression about myself to get abroad, and I sometimes think that—that all that has happened since has been my punishment.”
“No, no, that cannot be true, father,” broke in the son. “I am sure all the fault was on the other side. But have you never seen the man since?”