having acquiesced passively in the
revolutionary bringing-up which had brought on such a disaster. War
against injustice; sympathy with suffering; chivalry! Yes! But not quite
to the point whence they recoiled on his daughter, his family, himself!
The situation was impossible! He was fast resolving that, whether or no
they saved Derek from this quixotry, the boy should not have Nedda. And
already his eyes found difficulty in meeting hers.

They secured a compartment to themselves and, having settled down in
corners, began mechanically unfolding evening journals. For after all,
whatever happens, one must read the papers! Without that, life would
indeed be insupportable! Felix had bought Mr. Cuthcott's, but, though
he turned and turned the sheets, they seemed to have no sense till these
words caught his eyes: "Convict's tragic death! Yesterday afternoon at
Worcester, while being conveyed from the assize court back to prison,
a man named Tryst, sentenced to three years' penal servitude for arson,
suddenly attacked the warders in charge of him and escaped. He ran down
the street, hotly pursued, and, darting out into the traffic, threw
himself under a motor-car going at some speed. The car struck him on the
head, and the unfortunate man was killed on the spot. No reason whatever
can be assigned for this desperate act. He is known, however, to have
suffered from epilepsy, and it is thought an attack may have been coming
on him at the time."

When Felix had read these words he remained absolutely still, holding
that buff-colored paper before his face, trying to decide what he must
do now. What was the significance--exactly the significance of this? Now
that Tryst was dead, Derek's quixotic action had no meaning. But had he
already 'confessed'? It seemed from this account that the suicide was
directly after the trial; even before the boy's letter to Nedda had
been written. He must surely have heard of it since and given up his
mad idea! He leaned over, touched John on the knee, and handed him the
paper. John read the paragraph, handed it back; and the two brothers
stared fixedly at each other. Then Felix made the faintest movement of
his head toward his daughter, and John nodded. Crossing to Nedda, Felix
hooked his arm in hers and said:

"Just look at this, my child."

Nedda read, started to her feet, sank back, and cried out:

"Poor, poor man! Oh, Dad! Poor man!"

Felix felt ashamed. Though Tryst's death meant so much r