And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Ann Veronica was in their very forefront. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Don’t stand gawping, man. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. " "My conscience acquits me of all share in the offence," replied Jack, humbly.
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