I. A. R. Wylie

“ Jabez Corodo rose. His powerful, commanding figure contrasted strikingly with the broken man before him. He laid his hand on the quivering shoulders.
“I'm sorry, Sir Richard. I understand what this must mean to you——”
“You can't!” was the hoarse interruption. 'I'm beggared. That, perhaps, doesn't matter. I'm an old man. But my daughter—my son——”
“I also have a son.”
“You?”
“And one for whom I have made sacrifice after sacrifice, and who will never thank me. We have each our own burden, Sir Richard. And then—perhaps Lieutenant Villiers can look after himself better than you think.” ”

“ The newcomer bowed gravely.
“It was kind of you to receive me at this unusual hour, Sir Richard.”
“Not at all. My daughter and son-in-law are at Admiral Raeburn's. I am quite free, and glad of your company. A lonely, old man sometimes, Corodo, a lonely, old man.” He laughed in contradiction of his own words, and motioned his visitor to the fire. “Sit down. You're not looking well. Anything the matter?”
The other shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
“There's always something the matter with me, Sir Richard. I'm a patched-up wreck that the doctors keep afloat, Heaven knows how! ”

“ His heritage was strong in him as he turned, his hand upon the now open door, his head held high with the unshakable pride of race.
“Lieutenant Villiers serves one master!” he said clearly. “He is an honorable English gentleman. That's my answer—and his. You can go!”
The other bowed gravely.
“You are an admirable figurehead, Sir Richard,” he said, “but your business ability was worthy of the mine. It is to be regretted. I wish you a good night.” ”