out with his father, old Benjamin Wright; fallen out so finally that
in all these years since, the two men, father and son, had not spoken
one word to each other. If anybody might have been supposed to know
the cause of that thirty-year-old feud it was Dr. Lavendar. He
certainly saw the beginning of it....

One stormy March evening Samuel Wright, then twenty-four years old,
knocked at the Rectory door; Dr. Lavendar, shielding his lamp from the
wind with one hand, opened it himself.

"Why, Sam, my boy," he said and stopped abruptly. He led the way into
his study and put the lamp down on the table. "Something is the
matter?"

"Yes."

"What is it, Samuel?"

"I can't tell you, sir."

"Does your father know?"

"My father knows.... I will tell you this, Dr. Lavendar--that so help
me God, I will never speak to my father again."

The young man lifted one hand; his face was dreadful to look upon.
Then trying to speak in a natural voice he asked if he might stay at
the Rectory for that night.

Dr. Lavendar took two turns about his study, then he said, "Of course