tra blanket on my bed, for
I fancy the night air is biting."

I pushed back my chair.

"And now, you will excuse me" I said, "if I take my leave."

I rose a trifle unsteadily, and stood before him, with no particular
effort to hide my anger and contempt. But apparently I had ceased to be
of interest. He was sitting just as I had first seen him that morning,
staring into the embers of the fire. As I watched him, even through my
anger I felt a vague regret, a touch of pity--pity for a life that was
wasted in spite of its possibilities, in boasting and blackguardry. I
began hoping that he would speak, would argue or remonstrate. Instead, he
said nothing, only sat serenely indifferent, his eyes still on the fire.
Stepping around the debris that filled the room, I had placed my hand on
the latch, when I heard a stealthy footstep behind me. Brutus was at my
elbow. There was a tinkle of a wine glass falling on the hearth. I turned
to see my father facing me beside the table I had quitted--the calm
modulation gone from his voice, his whole body poised and alert, as
though ready to spring through the space that separated us.

"No doubt," he said, drawing a deep breath, "you are leaving this house
because you cannot bear to stay under the same roof with a man of my
stamp and accomplishments. Come, is that the reason?"

"Only partly," I answered, turning to face him, and then the words
tripped off my tongue, hot and bitter, before I had wit to check them.
"What right have I to be particular, now that I have found out my
inheritance? Why should I pick my company? Why should I presume to hold
my head up? I can only be blessed now, sir, like the rest of the meek."

I paused to let my final words sink in, and because I knew they would
hurt him, I spoke them with an added satisfaction.

"I shall start at once to acquire merit which the moth cannot corrupt," I
continued. "I am leaving to apologize to the man I fought with because he
called you a cheat--and to my uncle for doubting his word."

My father's fist came down on the table with a crash.

"Then, by God," he shouted, "you'll not leave this room! You'll not take
a single step until you've learned two things, learned them so you'll
never forget. Stand where you are and listen!"

IV

I remember the curious feeling I had that my father was gone, that he had
vanished while my back was turned, leaving me to face someone else. Then,
as I stared at him, still unready