The older man did not reply to this remark; but drew back the window-curtain so that the light might fall full across Phil’s face, and gazed intently at him for a few moments. Annie’s son! Flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone—and Annie cold in her grave these twenty years! How say some among us that there is no resurrection? This is, instead, a world of resurrections, in which that man or woman is fortunate who can succeed in burying the past so deep that it cannot rise. Phil and Carrie, hot with their own impatient young desires, were only irritated by Sebastian’s silence. How could they guess at that blinding back-flash of memory that held him silent at sight of Phil? How could they hear the voice Sebastian heard—an urgent tearful voice, ‘_Phil, that hath gotten half my soul_’; and again, ‘_If ever you can help Phil you’ll do it, because I gave him half my soul_,’ . . . and . . . ‘_God give Phil a white heart_,’ . . . and . . . ‘_Come, Sebastian?_’ ‘Sir, sir, speak!’ cried Carrie, catching hold again of her father’s hand. At the touch of her hand, at the sound of her voice, Sebastian came back to the present—the important present. ‘By Heaven!’ he cried. ‘Once in life is enough to be robbed by Richard Meadowes!’ ‘But, sir, I am not Richard Meadowes,’ said Phil. ‘His son; and twice accursed by that token. Never shall daughter of mine have my consent to marry with son of his—black-hearted lying devil that he is.’ Carrie shrank back, scared at her father’s violence; she had never heard him speak like this before. ‘Perhaps, sir, ’twould be better for you and me to discuss this matter by ourselves,’ suggested Phil. There had, in fact, been no explanation given on either side as yet, a fact which Phil was the first to realise. Sebastian, beside himself with anger, at the sight of Carrie in company with the son of his enemy, had never stopped to ask any questions one way or other. ‘There is little to discuss, I know, Mr. Meadowes,’ he said. ‘I have information this very day of your intentions, sent me by your father, and these intentions I cannot even discuss with you; I cannot give you my daughter. Even had you asked her hand of me in a fair and honourable manner, I would have denied it. Now doubly I do so since you thought to obtain it by stealth—a coward’s trick, that savours of the man you have the honour to name your father.’ Carrie, who knew the hot temper of her lover, held her breath for fear. But Phil did not fly into a sudden passion. He looked Sebastian full in the face, but though he flushed with anger, his words were quiet enough. ‘Did I not know the bitter provocation which makes you speak so, I would not stand here and listen to you in silence,’ he said. ‘My father may be all that you say, sir, but’—here Phil hesitated for a breath—‘he is all the father I have, and moreover has been a kind parent enough to me, as the world counts kindness.’