‘I think you may go, Philip,’ said his father. He did not speak angrily, nor indeed did he feel any anger at Phil. But the end had come. His last chance for love in this world had failed. He had dreaded this for long. Year by year, as Phil grew older, the separation between them had been gradually widening, an estrangement which the very similarity of their natures, in some respects, seemed to emphasise. Now the breach was open. And Phil had, without doubt, the right of the matter. ‘I scarce know how I looked that he should trust me,’ thought the unhappy man, ‘but I have renounced so much for the boy’s sake,—I have renounced marriage even, lest another son should supplant him; and I doubt if Phil hath ever realised all this, else surely he had not spoken with such cruelty to-night. For the rest of it, youth is sharp to notice, and, when I consider, do I ever speak or act straightly now? Once I did surely? I cannot now. My whole nature leans sidewise, like the tower of Pisa, toppling but still standing. . . . I’m rotten through and through, and Phil knows it,—and—— Oh, forsaken, forsaken!’ He sat forward with his head bent on his clasped hands. ‘_A sword shall pierce thine own heart_,’ he said. CHAPTER XXVII After the plain speaking which had passed between Richard Meadowes and his son, a readjustment of their relationships seemed necessary. It was not possible for them to keep up the former pretence of amity, yet Meadowes was anxious that no hint of their differences should reach the outside world. He called Philip to him one day and explained the case to him. ‘I would not have all the world know how it fares betwixt us, Phil,’ he said. ‘I had rather keep that bitter knowledge to myself; but things being as they are, ’twill be better for us now to live apart,—the one at Fairmeadowes, the other in town. I purpose after this date giving over the house in St. James’ Square to you, while I reside myself at Fairmeadowes. I care no longer for the amusements of the town.’ Phil objected at first to this arrangement as too generous. ‘You will tire of a rural existence, sir,’ he said, ‘ere six months are gone, and then—supposing me to have married in the meantime—I and my wife will have to rearrange our establishment once more. ’Twould be better for you to keep the house in town, and let me have another and smaller one.’ But Meadowes would not hear of this. ‘I cannot tell you, Phil, how it is with me,’ he said, leaning his head on his hand as he spoke. ‘And—may you never understand—a great weariness hath fallen over me, that is of the mind, not of the body. I care for nothing; the game is played out. So make no further parley over this; take what I offer and welcome: as you pointed out to me ’tis but your due, in a sense.’ ‘Then you fully understand, sir, that I bring Carrie Shepley to live in your house?’