“Those are strong words, Richard, my lad,” said he, bringing his eyebrows together.
“They are true words,” I retorted. “Why did you lie, I say?”
He said nothing for a while, but his breath came heavily.
“I will pass it, I will pass it,” he said at length, “but, by God! it is more than I have had to swallow in all my life before. Look at your grandfather, sir!” he cried; “behold him on the very brink of the grave, and ask me again why I lied to him! His hope of heaven is scarce less sacred to him than his love of the King, and both are so tightly wrapped about his heart that this knowledge of you would break it. Yes, break his heart, I say” (and he got to his legs), “and you would kill him for the sake of a boyish fancy!”
I knew he was acting, as well as though he had climbed upon the table and said it. And yet he had struck the very note of my own fears, and hit upon the one reason why I had not confessed lung ago.
“There is more you might have said, Mr. Allen,” I remarked presently; “you have a cause for keeping me under your instruction, and that is behind all.”
He gave me a strange look.
“You are too acute by far,” said he; “your imagination runs with you. I have said I like you, and I can teach you classics as well as another. Is it not enough to admit that the money I get for your instruction keeps me in champagne?”
“No, it is not enough,” I said stoutly.
“Then you must guess again, my lad,” he answered with a laugh, and left the room with the easy grace that distinguished him.