A terrible look came into the boy’s eyes, the Reckavile look.
He was not too young to understand.
“You mean to tell me that he married my mother when he had another wife alive,” he said slowly. Halley had no wish to shield the man, but the memory of Carlotta’s sweet face made him say:
“He loved your mother only, you must not judge your father too harshly. People in his position are sometimes forced to marry, against their wills, but I am sure it was your dear mother he loved.”
The boy stiffened, he had suddenly grown up.
“He was a villain, and I hate him—hate him! I am glad he died. If he had lived I would have killed him.”
Here was a Reckavile indeed. His eyes blazed, and Halley understood why Carlotta had not told him; she knew her son.
For a moment he stood with fists clenched, then he collapsed and a bitter flood of tears came.
“Go away,” he said fiercely as Halley tried to comfort him. “I want to be left alone.”
In the evening when the shadows were stretching over the garden, and a chill mist was coming up from the sea, the boy came in with a set face, hard and proud.