He rose and began pacing the room back and forth. He evidently found himself caught and bagged. He at length asked: “What is your object in raking up these youthful follies of mine? I wish you would stop at once.” “No,” I replied, “I am not ready yet.” “Go on then, go on; damn your persistency,” he retorted. I did go on. “You left my mother. She never smiled again, and soon after died of a broken heart. You left your two children to die of starvation had not some kind-hearted people taken care of them. What were they to you? You married in England and returned to India. After some years you became magistrate of Bhagulpur, and one Sunday, when you were reading prayers in the church, you saw a young girl in the congregation, and when you went to dine at the mess that evening, you asked who that plump young woman was. Even when you were in the house of God, and conducting religious service, your lustful eyes were searching for a victim.” “Damn your insolence!” he angrily exclaimed. I waited not. “You became acquainted with that governess, and by your flatteries and promises to marry her, you seduced her, and brought her here with you, as your mistress, to her shame and sorrow.” “Where is she? Tell me where she is and I will marry her at once,” he excitedly exclaimed. I replied, “I came here and took her and her child away and you will never see her again. That girl was your daughter and my sister.” “Good God! You don’t say so!” he exclaimed, and flung himself into a chair. He sat with his face pale as death, and with staring eyes, as if he really saw the horrible enormity of his crimes. I let him have some moments for reflection, and then asked, “Do you remember seeing me in Bhagulpur? I had rescued a young girl from the hands of your police, as they were dragging her to a brothel. For this you ordered me, by the mouth of one of your servants to come to your bungalow, and then not only insulted me, but called me ‘That damned Eurasian.’ When I called to see you here, you insulted me and spurned me out of this door, and again called me ‘That damned Eurasian’—me, your son! Who made me an Eurasian, but you?” “Have you finished?” he asked, very mildly though, for the great man, as he was considered to be, seemed to be completely cowed, beaten. “Yes,” I replied, “nearly so, for I have little more to say. Had you treated me any way decently, I might have concealed some of these things from you, but you defied me, dared me, so I have done my best, as you know to your sorrow. And to close, I must tell you that I have not the least respect for you as a man, nor the least regard for you as a father. I leave you to your own bitter thoughts, which will be hell enough for you, and may God have mercy on your soul, if He can.”