To himself, the chief
concerns were of the worldly kind. To this boy, the vital thing
was something deeper, something of the heart: for, however absurd
his feeling, the truth remained that he loved the woman. Yes, it
was the son's name that Mary Turner had taken, as well as that of
his father. In the case of the son, she had taken not only his
name, but his very life. Yes, it was, indeed, Dick's tragedy.
Whatever he, the father, might feel, the son was, after all, more
affected. He must suffer more, must lose more, must pay more
with happiness for his folly.
Gilder looked at his son with a strange, new respect, but he
could not let the situation go without protest, protest of the
most vehement.
"Dick," he cried, and his big voice was shaken a little by the
force of his emotion; "boy, you are all I have in the world. You
will have to free yourself from this woman somehow." He stood
very erect, staring steadfastly out of his clear gray eyes into
those of his son. His heavy face was rigid with feeling; the
coarse mouth bent slightly in a smile of troubled fondness, as he
added more softly: "You owe me that much.
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