for an average grief. Yet it was barely a tithe of the
sudden burden he had to bear. He had lost Irene, and any man who has
ever been seriously in love knows what that may mean to the heart
of three-and-twenty. And even this was not all, for he had lost his
father--lost irrevocably the bluff, outspoken, honourable man of whom,
in spite of the occasionally disturbing vulgarities of his manner, he
had all his life been proud. Confusedly and slowly the sense of all
these losses surged upon him. Now one was uppermost in his mind, and now
another; but they were always linked together in one leaden feeling of
heavy misery. He sat motionless for a full half-hour, staring at the
fire. At last a single dry sob, which shook him from head to foot,
escaped him. He rose with a bulldog shake of the head, threw back his
shoulders, and walked resolutely but slowly down the staircase. He would
have it out then and there, he declared to himself, and would come to an
understanding with his father. He would actually know the truth without
disguise, and, having learned it, would decide upon the conduct of his
future life. There was no thought of desertion in his mind, but there
was a great longing to be at action, to be striving with something for
a settled purpose; and no settled purpose was possible for him until
he and his father could stand heart to heart and face to face, with all
pretence between them broken down.

The hall lamp had flickered out, as it had threatened to do, and he
groped his way in darkness, though at another moment he would have
walked with the sure foot of custom blindfold about the house. Somehow,
the whole tide of his purpose seemed suddenly to ebb. He became
conscious of the night, and stood in the dark to listen to its wild
voices. There were other voices in the air, for he could hear his father
speaking in a deep, loud hum, and Jervoyce answering from time to time
in a treble like that of an hysteric woman. He felt his way to a hall
chair which had its place close to the parlour door, and sat down there
to wait until he should find his father alone. He could hear no words
from where he sat, but through all the plangent noises of the storm he
could discern anger and command in his father's voice, and a querulous
appeal which had a note of rage in it in the voice of his father's
companion. He paid but little heed, for his heart was growing numbed,
and no distinct thought any longer found a place in his mind. Sit