Mr. Hamilton started from his seat. 'If this be true!—my father's son gaining his bread as a house-painter!'
'It is true,' I whispered; 'for I saw him myself, and told Gladys.'
'You saw him!—you!' with an air of utter incredulity.
'Yes; and I tried to speak to him. He was so like the picture in Gladys's room, I thought it must be Eric. But he would not hear me, and in a moment he was gone. The men called him Jack Poynter, and said he was a gentleman, but no one knew where he lived. Oh, I have tried so hard to find him for you, but he will not be found.'
'And you did not tell me of this,' very reproachfully.
'Gladys would not let me tell you,' I returned: 'we could not be sure, and—' But he put up his hand to stop me.
'That will do,' in a tone of suppressed grief that went to my heart. 'I will not wrong you if I can help it; no doubt you did it for the best; you did not willingly deceive me.'
'Never! I have never deceived you, Mr. Hamilton.'
'Not intentionally. I will do you justice even now; but, oh,'—and here he clinched his right hand, and I saw the veins on it stand out like whip-cord,—'how I have been betrayed! Those I have trusted have brought trouble and confusion in my household; and, good God! they are women, and I cannot curse them.'
I saw Leah quail beneath this burst of most righteous indignation. The blinding tears rushed to my eyes as I heard him: in spite of his sternness, he had been so simple and so unsuspicious. He trusted people so fully, he was so generous in his confidence, and yet the woman he loved had played him false, and the pitiful creatures he had sheltered under his roof had hatched this conspiracy against his peace.