Despite the boy Derrick’s strongly expressed belief, that ought to have prepared her, she was startled; what she had thought all through the years still had her in possession. On thinking it over after her talk with Derrick, she had decided that he was mistaken. Joseph simply had not credited his brother’s tardy explanation, and so had chosen to say nothing about it to his children. She had hoped for a chance to ask him if he thought this was fair to his dead brother; but if he really was ignorant of the facts all that she had said must have been hard for him to hear. Now she must do as Derrick said: “Begin at the beginning.” She gave the story in more minute detail than she had for the boy, adding little illuminating incidents gathered from various sources through the years. After the first few minutes Mr. Forman asked no more questions; he dropped back among the cushions and again shaded his eyes from the light. When he finally spoke it was in a voice husky with emotion:
“I would have given my life for that boy. I thought of him as my special charge; my mother gave him into my care with almost her last breath; I was to ‘look after him for her.’ And I tried, I tried hard, as long as I had a chance. When the stepmother was—well, never mind that; I did my best, and I thought he trusted me fully. When he disappeared in that terrible way, making no sign, and giving me no chance to help him all through the years, it broke my heart.”
The silence of years had been broken now; the rush of words that followed, and the strong excitement under which they were spoken, would have amazed those who knew Mr. Forman only as a reserved, silent man, who looked much older than he really was. His half-sister seemed to understand.
“I know—” she said, sympathetically; “it was hard; and it seems too hard that you have never until now known the truth!”
“Why didn’t he write to me?” Mr. Forman broke out again. “Why didn’t he confide in me? He might have known that I—” His voice broke and he stopped abruptly. His sister’s voice was very gentle:
“He made mistakes, Joseph; it was a mistake to go away as he did, with all the appearance of running from discovery; he realized it all, afterwards; but he was very young; he said he was ‘young and foolish and proud.’ I suppose it would be hard for you to imagine just how you would feel or act if people should suddenly refuse to believe your word! I think it sort of stunned him.”
But Mr. Forman had already dropped into silence, his face almost entirely hidden. His sister had never felt a stronger desire to bestow comfort than she did at that moment. Also, there struggled within her another feeling, that of fierce indignation. Memory had taken her suddenly back to an afternoon of long ago when she and her brother Evarts were walking home together from Sunset Rock. A chance word had reminded her of the lost brother, and she had said how strange it was that he had never written to Joseph, his own brother, who used always to be looking out for him. She could almost hear Evarts’ words in quick response:
“It’s a mighty good thing he didn’t. Joe had a terribly soft streak in him where Dick was concerned; the scamp would have been sure to pull the wool over his eyes; it is a great wonder, though, that he didn’t try it. He really did the only decent thing left for him to do after disgracing us all. I didn’t expect it of him. I was looking for years to see him come whining back, by letter, at least, asking for help, and wheedling father out of more money than he spent in searching for him.”
Every word Evarts spoke seemed to have burned into her memory. She recalled how angry he had made her, and how eagerly she tried to say something in Derrick’s favor.
It was years after that talk before she knew of Derrick’s letter to his one brother, and his failure to answer it. That memory also was connected with Evarts, speaking volubly. He was making one of his flying visits to her at the old home and she told him of it.