_His father_!... And he must
wear that name and shoulder that infamy forevermore!
* * * * *
The nurse came back and relieved him of his vigil. He descended the
stairs to his solitary dinner. And as he went, and while he lingered
over food which he did not eat, his thoughts withdrew from his terrible
inheritance to centre anew on the fact that, within an hour, he was to
see Miss Weyland again.
The prospect drew him while it even more strongly repelled.
For a week he had hesitated, unable to convince himself that he was
justified in telling Miss Weyland at once the whole truth about himself,
his father, and her money. There was much on the side of delay. Surface
might die at any moment, and this would relieve his son from the
smallest reproach of betraying a confidence: the old man himself had
said that everything was to be made known when he died. On the other
hand Surface might get well, and if he did, he ought to be given a final
chance to make the restitution himself. Besides this, there was the
great uncertainty about the money. Queed had no idea how much it was, or
where it was, or whether or not, upon Surface's death, he himself was to
get it by bequest.
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