Anderson turned away.
"Don't rake up the past. Better not."
"Where are my other sons, George?"
"In Montreal, doing well." Anderson gave the details of their appointments and salaries.
"And never a thought of their old father, I'll be bound!" said McEwen, at the end, with slow vindictiveness.
"You forget that it was your own doing; we believed you dead."
"Aye!--you hadn't left a man much to come home for!--and all for an accident!--a thing as might ha' happened to any man."
The speaker's voice had grown louder. He stared sombrely, defiantly at his companion.
Anderson stood with his hands on his sides, looking through the further window. Then slowly he put his hand into his pocket and withdrew from it a large pocket-book. Out of the pocket-book he took a delicately made leather case, holding it in his hand a moment, and glancing uncertainly at the figure in the bed.
"What ha' you got there?" growled McEwen.