Now, through
Aunt Isabel's scornful eyes, he saw himself as the world saw
him--as his brothers and sisters must see him. THERE lay the
sting. What the world thought of him did not matter; but that
his own should think him a failure and disgrace was agony. He
moaned as he started to walk across the yard, only anxious to
hide his pain and shame away from all human sight, and in his
eyes was the look of a gentle animal which had been stricken by a
cruel and unexpected blow.
Edith Monroe, who, unaware of Robert's proximity, had been
standing on the other side of the porch, saw that look, as he
hurried past her, unseeing. A moment before her dark eyes had
been flashing with anger at Aunt Isabel's words; now the anger
was drowned in a sudden rush of tears.
She took a quick step after Robert, but checked the impulse. Not
then--and not by her alone--could that deadly hurt be healed.
Nay, more, Robert must never suspect that she knew of any hurt.
She stood and watched him through her tears as he went away
across the low-lying shore fields to hide his broken heart under
his own humble roof. She yearned to hurry after him and comfort
him, but she knew that comfort was not what Robert needed now.
Justice, and justice only, could pluck out the sting, which
otherwise must rankle to the death.
Ralph and Malcolm were driving into the yard. Edith went over to
them.
"Boys," she said resolutely, "I want to have a talk with you.
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