“I suppose he also told you why?” asked Jack, glancing sharply at the clergyman.
The latter looked disturbed and a trifle confused as he replied, “Yes, he did tell me something which—”
“He told you I was a convict’s son,” said Jack, quietly.
“What!” exclaimed the clergyman, with an involuntary start—“what! No, he didn’t tell me that, my poor boy: he never told me that!”
“I am,” quietly said Jack.
I was amazed at the composure with which he said it, and looked the visitor in the face as he did so.
The face was full of pity and sympathy. Not a shade of horror crossed it, and for all he was Hawkesbury’s father, I liked him more than ever.
“Do you mind telling me what he did say about me?” asked Jack, presently.
“We will not talk about that,” said the clergyman.
Jack looked disposed for a moment to persevere in his demand, but the father’s troubled face disarmed him.