And the old man sighed.
"I'd have given my eyes—yes, I would, Grig—to have seen that woman just once! God! the man she made out of my boy! Of course it may have been for the best that it turned out as it did, but—damn it all, Grig, she was worth while! There's no dodging that!"
"Nobody wants to dodge it, Charles! She was over-sexed, perhaps—but better that than undersexed—eh?"
But the exhilaration caused by the coming of his old friend gradually wore itself away, and Sir Charles began to grow weaker. And at last the end came. He had grown anxious to see the Boy again, and the young fellow had returned and spent much time with the old man, who loved the sound of his voice as it expressed his fresh, frank ideas.
But Sir Charles spent his last hours with his son.
"Paul," he said, in a last confidential whisper, touching upon the theme that had never been mentioned between them before, "I understand—everything—you know, and I'm proud of you—and him! I have wanted to say something, or do something for you—often—often—to help you—but it's the sort of thing a chap has to fight out for himself, and I thought I'd better keep out of it! But I wanted you to know—now—that I've known it all—all along—and been proud of you—both!"
And their hands clasped closely, and the eyes of both were wet, but even on the brink of death the lips of the younger man were sealed. The +silence of one-and-twenty years remained unbroken. +It was not a foolish reticence that restrained him—but simply that he could not find words to voice the memories that grew more and more sacred with the passing of the years.
And at evening, when the family had gathered about him, the old man lay with his son's hand in his, but his eyes looked beyond and rested on the face of the Boy, who seemed the renewal of hit son's youth, when life was one glad song! And thus he passed to the Great Beyond.
And his son was Sir Paul Verdayne, the last of his race.