"Certainly you will return to Dinan. For God's sake--" The Squire checked himself, and his tenderness swelled suddenly above his scorn. He rose from the table, stepped to the boy, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Walter," he said, "we have somehow managed to make a mess of it. You have behaved disreputably; and if the blame of it, starting from somewhere in the past, lies at your mother's door or mine, we must sorrowfully beg your pardon. The thing is done: it is reparable, but only through your suffering. You are the last a Cleeve, and with our faults we a Cleeves have lived cleanly and honourably. Be a man: take up this burden which I impose, and redeem your honour. For your mother's sake and mine I could ask it: but how can we separate ourselves from you? Look in my face. Are there no traces in it of these last two years? Boy, boy, you have not been the only one to suffer! If further suffering of ours could help you, would it not be given? But a man's honour lies ultimately in his own hands. Go, lad--endure what you must--and God support you with the thought that we are learning pride in you!" "It will kill me!" The lad blurted it out with a sob. His father's hand dropped from his shoulder. "Are you incapable of understanding that it might do worse?" he asked coldly, and turned his back in despair. Walter went out unsteadily, fumbling his way. The Squire dined alone that night, and after dinner sat long alone before his library fire--how long he scarcely knew; but Narracott, the butler, had put up the bolts and retired, leaving only the staircase-lantern burning, when Father Halloran knocked at the library door and was bidden to enter. "I wished to speak with you about Walter--to learn your decision," he explained. "You have not seen him?" "Not since he came to explain himself." "He is in his room, I believe. He is to be ready at eight to-morrow to start with me for Plymouth." "I looked for that decision," said the priest, after a moment's silence. "Would you have suggested another?" The question came sharp and stern; but a moment later the Squire mollified it, turning to the priest and looking him straight in the eyes. "Excuse me; I am sure you would not." "I thank you," was the answer. "No: since I have leave to say so, I think you have taken the only right course." The two men still faced one another. Fate had made them antagonists in this house, and the antagonism had lasted over many years. But no petulant word had ever broken down the barrier of courtesy between them: each knew the other to be a gentleman. "Father Halloran," said the Squire gravely, "I will confess to you that I have been tempted. If I could honestly have spared the lad--" "I know," said the priest, and nodded while Mr. a Cleeve seemed to search for a word. "If any sacrifice of your own could stand for payment, you could have offered it, sir."