“You are a brave man, father,” he forced himself to say.
“No; a coward. A pitiable old coward. You received my letter this morning?”
“Yes. It is all right.”
“You found a cheque yesterday—thought it forged—stopped Ella's marriage?”
“Yes, and brought her back with me.”
“But you will believe that I wrote the cheque?”
“If you wish me to,” said Sylvester.
There was a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sobbing of the wind outside among the bare trees. Matthew gazed at the patch of sky framed by the window—it was one of his little obstinacies to have the fullest daylight in his room—and watched the scudding clouds. Presently, without turning,—
“Syl,” he said.
“Yes, father.”