Then suddenly he sunk on his knees by Aymer’s side, and hid his head against the arm that had sheltered him as a child.
“They can’t make me take it,” he whispered, “even if I am his son. But Cæsar, Cæsar, why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I hoped you would never know. Did you never have any suspicion yourself?”
“Never. It was the last thing I should have imagined.”
“You have never asked me anything. You must sometimes have wondered about yourself.”
“I was quite content.” Christopher spoke with shut teeth. Under no provocation must Cæsar know the falsehood that had lain so long in his mind. He saw it in its full proportion now, and hated himself for his blindness in harbouring so ugly a thought.
“We were never certain how much Peter knew and I’ve never known for the past three years whether he meant to claim you or not.”
“If you’d only told me, Cæsar!”
“It was my one hope you should not know.”
“I don’t think I’ve earned that,” he said reproachfully.