“Askew’s!” shouted Osborn, straightening his bent shoulders with a savage jerk.  “This is more than I can bear.  Was there nobody you could rob but the man who has plotted against me since he came home from school?” He stopped and gasped as if his rage were choking him and it was some moments before he went on:  “You have given the fellow power to humble us and drag our name in the mud.  Can’t you imagine how he’ll exult?  Our honor in Askew’s hands!  It’s unthinkable!”

“If the bill isn’t met, the holder will apply to Askew,” Gerald said as coolly as he could.

Osborn’s muscles relaxed and he sank back into his limp pose.  His hand shook as he wiped his wet forehead.

“You have said enough.  Leave me alone.  I must try to think.”

Gerald went out and drew a deep breath when he reached the landing.  He felt shaky and ashamed, but knew he had won.  The shutting of the door gave Osborn some relief.  The anger and disgust Gerald excited had confused his brain, but now the lad had gone he saw no light.  There was but one way of escape, and this a way it was almost unthinkable that he should take.  The strange thing was he should hate it so much, for he had never indulged his children or thought about their happiness.  Yet he shrank from forcing his daughter to marry Thorn, whom he approved while she did not.

He might, perhaps, for the girl’s sake, have sacrificed his pride; but there was an obstacle before which his courage melted.  If Thorn did not help, Askew would know his disgrace and Osborn did not expect him to be merciful.  His rancor against Askew had by degrees become a blind, illogical hate that made it impossible for him to see anything Kit did in its proper light.  Feeling as he did, he imagined Kit would rejoice in the opportunity for humbling him.

All the same, knowing the fight was hopeless, he struggled against the conviction that he must beg help from Thorn.  In many ways, he liked Alan, but he was hard and Osborn dreaded his firmness now.  Yet he could help and there was nobody else.  It got dark, but Osborn did not move.  A faint breeze came up and moaned about the house, and presently a moonbeam stole into the room.  Osborn sat still, with his head bent and his arms spread out across the table.  Sometimes he burned with anger against Gerald and sometimes he scarcely felt anything at all.

At length, he got up, and with an effort went upstairs.  Half an hour later, a heavy sleep that came as a reaction after the shock closed his eyes and banished his troubles for a time.

CHAPTER VIII

GRACE’S CONFIDENCE