The father followed eagerly:
"Tell me that it's all right!"
The boy's hand nervously fumbled at the cloth on the table:
"I—I—am glad I didn't do something worse!"
"Say that you forgive me! Why is it so hard?"
Tom turned his back:
"I don't know, Dad, I try, but—I—just can't!"
The father's hand touched the boy's arm timidly:
"You can never understand, my son, how my whole life has been bound up in you! For years I've lived, worked, and dreamed and planned for you alone. In your young manhood I've seen all I once hoped to be and have never been. In your love I've found the healing of a broken heart. Many a night I've gone out there alone in that old cemetery, knelt beside your mother's grave and prayed her spirit to guide me that I might at least lead your little feet aright——"
The boy moved slightly and the father's hand slipped limply from his, he staggered back with a cry of despair, and fell prostrate on the lounge: