"It is . . . ugly," he said at last slowly.

"It is God's own will," was the hot answer, and Sir Richard
smote the table.

"Has God taken you into His confidence?" wondered Mr. Caryll.

"I know that God is justice."

"Yet is it not written that `vengeance is His own'?"

"Aye, but He needs human instruments to execute it. Such
instruments are we. Can you - Oh, can you hesitate ?"

Mr. Caryll clenched his hands hard. "Do it," he answered
through set teeth. "Do it! I shall approve it when 'tis
done. But find other hands for the work, Sir Richard. He is
my father."

Sir Richard remained cool. "That is the argument I employ for
insisting upon the task being yours," he replied. Then, in a
blaze of passion, he - who had schooled his adoptive son so
ably in self-control - marshalled once more his arguments.
"It is your duty to your mother to forget that he is your
father. Think of him only as the man who wronged your mother;
the man to whom her ruined life, her early death are due - her
murderer and worse. Consider that. Your father, you say!"
He mocked almost. "Your father! In what is he your father?
You have never seen him; he does not know that you exist, that