My father waved a hand towards the window, and, in a low voice, answered:
"You have failed me, Michael."
I did not, could not answer him, and so he went on in the same low, crushing voice:
"Yes, Michael, you have failed me utterly. You have placed your father in the shadow of the gallows."
Those words to me were like the plunging of a knife into my heart. Shame, self-reproach, could silence me no longer.
"Sir!" I cried, springing to my feet, and facing him with tight-clenched hands, and burning cheeks, "you judge me harshly! I did not fail you willingly! I----"
"You did not get my letter, then?" he put in sternly.
"Yes, sir, I got your letter, but other stirring things clean drove it from my mind."
"And, pray, what stirring things are those?"
"Why, hast not heard the news?"