.. he saw always that dark strain of hatred,
of madness, of evil working in their blood. Suppose that as his boy grew he
should see this in the young eyes? Suppose, most horrible of all, that he
should feel this hatred for his son that his grandfather had felt for his
father, that his father had felt for him.
What had he done?... He stopped, staring confusedly about him. The people
jostled him on every side. The old devils were at him--"Eat and drink for
to-morrow we die.... Give it up ... We're too strong for you and we'll be
too strong for your son. Who are you to defy us? Come down--give it up--"
His white face caught attention. "Move along, guv'nor," some one shouted. A
man took him by the arm and led up a dark side street. He turned his eyes
and saw that the man was Maradick.
II
The elder man felt that the boy was trembling from head to foot.
"What's the matter, Westcott? Anything I can do for you?"
Peter seemed to take him in slowly, and then, with a great effort, to pull
himself together.
"What, you--Maradick? Where was I? I'm afraid I've been making a fool of
myself...." A church clock struck somewhere in the distance. "Hullo, I say,
what's that? That's eleven. I must get back, I ought to be at home--"
"I'll come with you--"
Maradick hailed a hansom and helped Peter into it.
For a moment there was silence--then Maradick said--
"I hope everything's all right, Westcott? Your wife?"
Peter spoke as though he were in a dream.
Pages:
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469