'right,'" said the boy, proudly, and the man
writhed in his chair.

For a moment, the ghostly Evelina went to Ralph, her hands
outstretched in disapproval. Immediately she returned to her former
position, advancing, retreating, advancing, retreating, with the
regularity of the tide.

"I begged her," continued Ralph, "to tell me the man's name, but she
would not. He still lives, she said, he is happy and prosperous and
he has not suffered at all. For the honour of men, I want to punish
that brute. Father, do you know that when I think of a cur like
that, I believe I could rend him with my own hands?"

Anthony Dexter got to his feet unsteadily. The mists about him
cleared and the veiled figure whisked suddenly out of his sight. He
went up to Ralph as he might walk to the scaffold, but his head was
held high. All the anguish of his soul crystallised itself into one
passionate word:

"Strike!"

For an instant the boy faced him, unbelieving. Then he remembered
that his father had seen Miss Evelina's face, that he must have known
she was beautiful--and why she wore the veil. "Father!" he cried,
shrilly. "Oh, never you!"

Anthony Dexter looked into the eyes of his son until he could bear to
look no more. The veiled figure no longer stood between them, but
something else was there, infinitely more terrible. As he had
watched the beating of the dog's bared heart, the man watched the
boy's face. Incredulity, amazement, wonder, and fear resolved
themselves gradually into conviction. Then came contempt, so deep
and profound and permanent that from it there could never be appeal.
With all the strength of his young and knightly soul, Ralph despised
his father--and Anthony Dexter knew it.

"Father," whispered the boy, hoarsely, "it was never you! Tell me it
isn't true! Just a word, and I'll believe you! For the sake of our
manhood, Father, tell me it isn't true!"

Anthony Dexter's head drooped, his eyes lowered before his son's.
The cold sweat dripped from his face; his hands groped pitifully,
like those of a blind man, feeling his way in a strange place.

His hands fumbled helplessly toward Ralph's and the boy shrank back
as though from the touch of a snake. With a deep-drawn breath of
agony, the man flung himself, unseeing, out of the room. Ralph
reeled like a drunken man against his chair. He sank into it
helplessly and his head fell forward on the table, his shoulders
shaking with that awful grief