"Don't! Don't! Helen doesn't know?"
"No."
"She mustn't!" he shivered, looking wildly at his father. "But why, why—oh, dear God, why didn't you kill me before I knew!"
He sank back into the chair, his arms outstretched across the table, his face hidden in voiceless shame.
The father slowly approached the prostrate figure, bent low and tenderly placed his cheek against the blonde head, soothing it with trembling touch. For a long while he remained thus, with no sound breaking the stillness save the sobs that came from the limp form.
And then Norton said brokenly:
"I tried, my boy, to end it for us both without your knowing just now when your back was turned, but I couldn't. It seemed too cowardly and cruel! I just couldn't"—he paused, slowly drew the revolver from his pocket and laid it on the table.
The boy felt the dull weight of the steel strike the velvet cover and knew what had been done without lifting his head.
"Now you know," the father added, "what we both must do."
Tom rose staring at the thing on the dark red cloth, and lifted his eyes to his father's.