"Surely, Jason, you did not come here to discuss the past."

"Perhaps not," Uncle Jason replied with another laugh, which seemed
slightly out of tune in the silence that surrounded him, "but how can I
not be reminded of it? This room and you--indeed Henry here is all that
brings me back. He is like you, George, and yet--" he paused to favor me
with another glance--"he has his mother's eyes."

My father flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.

"Suppose," he suggested, "we leave your sister out of the discussion. Let
us come down to practical matters and leave the dead alone."

It was the first time he had mentioned her. His voice was coldly aloof,
but his hand began moving restlessly again over his coat in search of an
imaginary wrinkle.

"You understand me?" he inquired gently after a second's pause. "Pray
remember, Jason, I have only two cheeks, and I can recall no biblical law
to follow if you should strike again."

"God bless me!" gasped my uncle in blank amazement. "I did not come here
to quarrel. I came because you are in trouble. I came as soon as I had
heard of it, because you need my help--because--" he had regained his
cordial eloquence from the very cadence of his words. He paused, and I
thought his eye moistened and his voice quavered, "because blood is
thicker than water, George."

At the last words my father inclined his head gravely, and was
momentarily silent, as though seeking an adequate reply.