But the father now was not like Croesus, the generous–hearted Lydian, although the man who stood before him was not a runagate from Phrygia, but the son of his own loins. The father did not look at him, but kept his eyes fixed on the window, as though he knew not any were near him. Then the son could wait no more, but spoke in a hollow, trembling voice: “Father, I am come, as you ordered”. “Yes. I will not keep you long. Perhaps you want to go out” (“shooting” he was about to say, but could not be quite so cruel). “I only wish so to settle matters that we may meet no more”. “Oh, father—my own father!—for Godʼs sake!—if there be a God—donʼt speak to me like that”! “Sir, I shall take it as a proof that you are still a gentleman, which at least you used to be, if you will henceforth address me as ‘Sir Cradock Nowell’, a title which soon will be your own”. “Father, look me in the face, and ask me; then I will”. Sir Cradock Nowell still looked forth the heavily–tinted window. His son, his only, his grief–worn son, was kneeling at his side, unable to weep, too proud to sob, with the sense of deep wrong rising. If the father once had looked at him, nature must have conquered. “Mr. Nowell, I have only admitted you that we might treat of business. Allow me to forget the face of a fratricide, perhaps _murderer_”. Cradock Nowell fell back heavily, for he had risen from his knees. The crown of his head crashed the glass of a picture, and blood showered down his pale face. He never even put his hand up, to feel what was the matter. He said nothing, not a syllable; but stood there, and let the room go round. How his mother must have wept, if she was looking down from heaven! The old man, having all the while a crude, dim sense of outrunning his heart, gave the youth time to recover himself, if it were a thing worth recovering. “Now, as to our arrangements—the subject I wished to speak about. I only require your consent to the terms I propose, until, in the natural course of events, you succeed to the family property”. “What family property, sir”? Cradockʼs head was dizzy still, the bleeding had done him good. “Why, of course, the Nowelhurst property; all these entailed estates, to which you are now sole heir”. “I will never touch one shilling, nor step upon one acre of it”. “Under your motherʼs—that is to say, under my marriage–settlement”, continued Sir Cradock, in the same tone, as if his son were only bantering, “you are at once entitled to the sum of 50,000_l._ invested in Three per Cent. Consols—which would have been—I mean, which was meant for younger children. This sum the trustees will be prepared——” “Do you think I will touch it? Am I a thief as well as a murderer”? “I shall also make arrangements for securing to you, until my death, an income of 5000_l._ per annum. This you can draw for quarterly, and the cheques will be countersigned by my steward, Mr. Garnet”.