Fielding stood and watched him dumbly, more moved than he cared to show.
At length, as Dick remained standing before a bookcase in heavy silence,
he spoke, his tone an odd mixture of peremptoriness and persuasion.
"Dick!"
Dick jerked his head without turning or speaking.
"Are you blaming me for this?" the squire asked.
Dick turned. His face was pale, his eyes fiercely bright. "You, sir! Do
you think I'd have sat at your table if I did?"
"I don't know," the squire said sombrely. "You're fond of telling me I
have no claim on you, but I have--for all that. There is a bond between
us that you can't get away from, however hard you try. You think I
can't understand your feelings in this matter, that I'm too sordid in
my views to realize how hard you've been hit. You think I'm only
pleased to know that you're free from your burden, at last, eh, Dick,
and that your trouble doesn't count with me? Think I've never had any
of my own perhaps?"
He spoke with a half-smile, but there was that in his voice that made
Dick come swiftly back to him down the long room; nor did he pause
when he reached him. His hand went through the squire's arm and
gripped it hard.
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