‘I did not mean to reproach you,’ said the father, and again there was that distant note of sadness which sounded so strangely in his voice; ‘but it seemed to me right to remind you of these things before telling you the rest. I reproach myself more than you.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Listen. My young life was passed in a home which had been suddenly stricken down from wealth and ease to poverty. On every hand I heard the one explanation given for my father’s haggard looks, my mother’s wasting illness, for my poor sister’s white face and constant drudgery with her needle, and for my own unsatisfied hunger; and that explanation was—the want of money.... I resolved that I should conquer this demon that was destroying us all—I resolved that I should have money.’
Here he paused, as if the memory of that time of misery proved too painful for him. Philip’s sympathetic nature was drawn closer to his father at that moment than it had ever been before. He rose impulsively and grasped his arm. In the darkness the forms of the two men were indistinguishable to each other; but with that sympathetic touch each saw the other clearly in a new light.
‘My poor father,’ murmured Philip, clenching his teeth to keep down the sob that was in his throat.
There was silence; and at that moment a pale gleam of moonlight stole across the room. But it seemed only to darken the corner in which the two men stood.
By-and-by Mr Hadleigh gently removed his son’s hand.
‘Sit down again, Philip, or go over to the window so that I may see you.’
Philip walked quietly to a place opposite the window, and putting his hands behind him, rested them on the ledge of a bookcase, leaning back so that the light fell full upon his frank, handsome face, making it look very pale in his anxiety. He knew that his father was gazing earnestly at him, and as he could not see him, he was glad to hear his voice again, which in some measure took away the uncomfortable feeling produced by the singular position.
‘You know that I gained my object,’ Mr Hadleigh proceeded, with a mingling of bitterness and regret in his voice; ‘but at what a cost!... All the lightness of heart which makes the lives of even the poorest children happy at times—all the warmth of hope and enthusiasm which brightens the humblest youth, were gone. It was not hope that led me on: it was determination. All emotion was dead within me: at twenty I was an old man; and in the hard grasping struggle with which I fought against the demon Poverty, and won the favour of the greater demon, Wealth—even love itself was sacrificed.’