“My good Mackellar!” said he; and that in tones so kindly that I had near forsook my purpose. But I called to mind that I was speaking for his good, and stuck to my colours.
“Has it never come in upon your mind what you are doing?” I asked.
“What I am doing?” he repeated; “I was never good at guessing riddles.”
“What you are doing with your son?” said I.
“Well,” said he, with some defiance in his tone, “and what am I doing with my son?”
“Your father was a very good man,” says I, straying from the direct path. “But do you think he was a wise father?”
There was a pause before he spoke, and then: “I say nothing against him,” he replied. “I had the most cause perhaps; but I say nothing.”
“Why, there it is,” said I. “You had the cause at least. And yet your father was a good man; I never knew a better, save on the one point, nor yet a wiser. Where he stumbled, it is highly possible another man should fall. He had the two sons——”
My lord rapped suddenly and violently on the table.
“What is this?” cried he. “Speak out!”