ir disgrace. Vandover was too thoroughly terrified for
his own safety to feel humiliated at this possible explanation of his
security. There was as yet not even a guess that implicated him.

He thought that he was bearing up under the strain well enough, but on
the evening of the second day, as he was pretending to eat his supper,
his father sent the servant out and turning to him, said kindly:

"What is it, Van? Aren't you well nowadays?"

"Not very, sir," answered Vandover. "My throat is troubling me again."

"You look deathly pale," returned his father. "Your eyes are sunken and
you don't eat."

"Yes, I know," said Vandover. "I'm not feeling well at all. I think I'll
go to bed early to-night. I don't know"--he continued, after a pause,
feeling a desire to escape from his father's observation--"I don't know
but what I'll go up now. Will you tell the cook to feed Mr. Corkle for
me?"

His father looked at him as he pushed back from the table.

"What's the matter, Van?" he said. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, I'll be all right in the morning," he replied nervously. "I feel a
little under the weather just now."

"Don't you think you had better tell me what the trouble is?" said his
father, kindly.

"There _isn't_ any trouble, sir," insisted Vandover. "I just feel a
little under the weather."

But as he was starting to undress in his room a sudden impulse took
possession of him, an overwhelming childish desire to tell his father
all about it. It was beginning to be more than he was able to bear
alone. He did not allow himself to stop and reason with this impulse,
but slipped on his vest again and went downstairs. He found his father
in the smoking-room, sitting unoccupied in the huge leather chair before
the fireplace.

As Vandover came in the Old Gentleman rose and without a word, as if he
had been expecting him, went to the door and shut and locked it. He came
back and stood before the fireplace watching Vandover as he approached
and took the chair he had just vacated. Vandover told him of the affair
in two or three phrases, without choosing his words, repeating the same
expressions over and over again, moved only with the desire to have it
over and done with.

It was like a burst of thunder. The worst his father had feared was not
as bad as this. He had expected some rather serious boyish trouble, but
this was the crime of a man. Still watching his son, he put out his
hand, groping for the edge of the