“It hit me pretty hard,” he said in a low voice, not lifting his hand.  “Juliet just made it bearable.  I shall get over it, of course.  But—­I never want to see Jack again.”

Again for a space he stopped, then with a sudden fierce impatience jerked on.

“You may remember saying to me once—­no; a hundred times over—­that I should never get anywhere so long as I kept my boy with me—­never find success—­or happiness—­never marry—­all that sort of rot.  It was rot.  I always knew it was.  I’ve proved it.  She would have come to me in any case.  And as for success—­it doesn’t depend on things of that sort.  I’ve proved that too.  But he—­Jack—­got hold of the same infernal parrot-cry.  Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” he glanced upwards for a second with working lips.  “I can’t dress this up in polite language.  Jack said to my boy Robin what you had said to me.  And he—­believed it—­and so—­made an end.”

He drew his breath hard between his teeth and straightened himself, putting Fielding’s arm quietly from his.

“Good God!” said Fielding.  “But the boy was mad!  He never was normal.  You can’t say—­”

“Oh, no, sir.”  With grim bitterness Dick interrupted.  “He just took the shortest way out, that’s all.  He wasn’t mad.”

“Committed suicide!” ejaculated the squire.

Dick’s hands were clenched.  “Do you call it that,” he said, “when a man lays down his life for his friends?”

He turned away with the words as if he could endure no more, and walked to the end of the room.

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.

“I’m—­awfully sorry, sir,” he said.  “If you understand—­you’ll forgive me.”

“I do understand, Dick,” the squire said with great kindness.  “I know I’ve been hard on you about that poor boy.  I’m infernally sorry for the whole wretched business.  But—­as you say—­you’ll get over it.  You’ve got Juliet.”