"Forgive me, Stafford!" he said, in a low, broken voice. "I was obliged
to tell you. I'd have kept it from you--you would never have known--but
Falconer has forced my hand; I was bound to show you how necessary it
was that we should have him as friend instead of foe. You are
not--ashamed of me, my boy; you won't go back on me?"
In the stress and strain of his emotion the old digger's slang came
readily to his lips.
Stafford took one hand from his face and held it out, and his father
grasped it, clinging to it as a drowning man clings to a rock.
"God bless you, my boy!" he said. "I might have known you wouldn't turn
your back upon me; I might have known that you'd remember that I wasn't
fighting for myself only, but for the son I'm so proud of."
"I know, I know, sir," said Stafford, almost inaudibly.
Sir Stephen hung his hand, released it, and paced up and down the room
again, fighting for composure, and facing the situation after the
manner of his kind. Like all successful adventurers, he was always
ready to look on the bright side. He came back to Stafford and patted
him gently on the shoulder.
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