"Why?" he questioned. "What about my father? Why did you ask that?"
O'Hara did not answer at once, and he did not stir from his place by the window, but after a while he said:
"I knew him.... That's all."
And after another space he came back beside the bed, and once more looked down upon the young man who lay there. His face was veiled, inscrutable. It betrayed nothing.
"You have a look of your father," said he. "That was what puzzled me a little. I was just saying to--I was just thinking that there was something familiar about you.... Ah, well, we've all come down in the world since then. The Ste. Marie blood, though. Who'd have thought it?"
The man shook his head a little sorrowfully, but Ste. Marie stared up at him in frowning incomprehension. The pain had dulled him somewhat. And presently O'Hara again moved toward the door. On the way he said:
"I'll bring or send you something to eat--not too much. And later on I'll give you a sleeping-powder. With that head of yours you may have trouble in getting to sleep. Understand, I'm doing this for your father's son, and not because you've any right yourself to consideration."
Ste. Marie raised himself with difficulty on one elbow.
"Wait!" said he. "Wait a moment!" and the other halted just inside the door. "You seem to have known my father," said Ste. Marie, "and to have respected him. For my father's sake, will you listen to me for five minutes?"
"No, I won't," said the Irishman, sharply. "So you may as well hold your tongue. Nothing you can say to me or to any one in this house will have the slightest effect. We know what you came spying here for. We know all about it."