"You're not to say
it--even to me. Tell me this other thing about yourself--the thing I
don't know!"
"Oh, that! That's nothing, sir, nothing--at least you won't think it so.
It's only that during the past few years some books have been published
by one named Dene Strange that have attracted attention in certain
quarters."
"I've read 'em all," said the squire. "Well?"
"I wrote them," said Dick; "that's all."
"You!" Fielding stared. "You, Dick!"
"Yes, I. I meant to have told you, but so long as my boy lived, my job
seemed to be here, so I kept it to myself. And then--when she came--she
told me she hated the man who wrote those books for being cynical--and
merciless. So I wrote another to make her change her mind about me before
she knew. It is only just published. And she found out before she read
it. That's all," Dick said again with the shadow of a smile. "She found
out this evening. It was a shock to her--naturally. It's been a
succession of obstacles all through--a perpetual struggle against odds.
Well, it's over. At least we know what we're up against now. There will
be no more illusions of any sort from to-day on." He paused, stood a
moment as if bracing himself, then turned.
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