“I have thought,” he said. “Frank was honest, kindly, generous, and he had hot blood. He would always help a friend in trouble: once he helped me. I should always have gone to him if I was in a difficulty. Thus I owe him a debt. Please God, I will repay it. He committed a fault, or sin, what you will. I have made it my business, as far as I humanly can, to repair that. I do not wish that the sins of the father should be visited on the child. I beg your pardon, mother, I have put that in a way that will offend you. Let me put it like this: I want the child to have as good a chance as possible. I thought perhaps you might help me.” “How could I help you?” said Mrs. Collingwood. Jack paused. Then: “I meant to bring up the child myself,” he said. “I should have told you that earlier if you had encouraged me at all. I thought even that you might suggest--no, I scarcely thought it--that the child should live here. I was wrong. I ought never to have come.” Again there was a silence. Again all that was best and most human in the man burst out: “Mother,” he said, “do not blame me. There was a bad business--I knew it. I only thought to repair it as far as I could. You do not agree with me. Very well, let us forget it. Why should this, too, come between us?” His eyes had the glimmer of tears in them, and he took an unresisting hand. “I said ‘this too,’” he went on. “I know that there is much in me that you do not approve. You would have had me choose a different way of life. That, I am afraid, cannot be remedied. Shall we not accept it? And, such as I am, I have tried to be a good son to you and father.” The hand that lay unresistingly in his tightened its grasp. He looked up, but his mother only shook her head. “Go, Jack,” she said; “kiss me, then go.” He kissed her, and left the room without another word. Mrs. Collingwood sat quite still for a moment. Then her wide mouth widened, and she burst into tears.