The old man struck the table suddenly and violently.
"I have dropped words enough," he cried. "Where's the use of it? If you think they will let you alone, I tell you they will not. There are to be doings before Christmas, at latest; and what then?"
Then Robin drew his breath sharply between his teeth; and knew that one more step had been passed, that had separated him from that which he feared…. He had come just now, still hesitating. Still there had been passing through his mind hopes and ideas of what his father might do for him. He knew well enough that he would never pay the fines, amounting sometimes to as much as twenty pounds a month; but he had thought that perhaps his father would give him a sum of money and let him go to fend for himself; that he might help him even to a situation somewhere; and now hope had died so utterly that he did not even dare speak of it. And he had said "No" to Anthony; he said to himself at least that he had meant "No," in spite of his hesitation. All doors seemed closing, save that which terrified him….
"I have thought in my mind—" he began; and stopped, for the terror of what was on his tongue grew suddenly upon him.
"Eh?"
Robin stood up.
"I must have time, sir," he cried; "I must have time. Do not press me too much."
His father's eyes shone bright and wrathful. He beat on the table with his open hand; but the boy was too quick for him.
"I beg of you, sir, not to make me speak too soon. It may be that you would hate that I should speak more than my silence."
His whole person was tense and magnetic; his face was paler than ever; and it seemed as if his father understood enough, at least, to make him hesitate. The two looked at one another; and it was the man's eyes that tell first.