“That is an unmanly lie,” replied Dick slowly.
“Dick!” cried the father, “Dick!”
“I do not care,” said the son, strengthening himself against his own heart; “I—I have said it, and it’s the truth.”
There was a pause.
“Dick,” said the old man at last, in a voice that was shaken as by a gale of wind, “I am going. I leave you with your friends, sir—with your friends. I came to serve you, and now I go away a broken man. For years I have seen this coming, and now it has come. You never loved me. Now you have been the death of me. You may boast of that. Now I leave you. God pardon you.”
With that he was gone; and the three who remained together heard his horse’s hoofs descend the lane. Esther had not made a sign throughout the interview, and still kept silence now that it was over; but the Admiral, who had once or twice moved forward and drawn back again, now advanced for good.
“You are a man of spirit, sir,” said he to Dick; “but though I am no friend to parental interference, I will say that you were heavy on the governor.” Then he added with a chuckle: “You began, Richard, with a silver spoon, and here you are in the water, like the rest. Work, work, nothing like work. You have parts, you have manners; why, with application, you may die a millionaire!”
Dick shook himself. He took Esther by the hand, looking at her mournfully.
“Then this is farewell?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered. There was no tone in her voice, and she did not return his gaze.