"Twelve-thirty, sir," responded Jenkins, pulling aside the curtains to let in the light of day.
"Have I been asleep all that time?" I inquired aghast.
"You were very tired, sir. You hardly slept the night before," he apologized for me.
"Mr. Trenton is waiting luncheon for you, sir. He wants to know how you are feeling, sir," he continued presently.
The events of the previous evening flocked into my mind, and I felt the blood surge into my cheeks. What a chicken-hearted fellow her father must have thought me!
"Tell Mr. Trenton I'll join him in the library in half an hour," I said decisively.
"Very well, sir."
It was more than thirty minutes before I made my appearance, but I had myself well in hand now and after luncheon, at which we spoke only of common-places, I told him that I was ready to give him the details of the case. Immovably he sat with his head bowed upon his hands while I related the facts, nor did he interrupt by word or gesture at any time during the recital.
When I had finished he raised his head, and I was startled by the old and haggard look upon his face. He had aged ten years in as many minutes.
"The sins of the father," he said, hoarsely. "Carlton, it's all my fault that Ruth has killed that wretch!"