He sat in
silence, leaning forward, his eyes bent down.
'It's no good whatever _I_ say,' lamented Hewett. 'They don't heed
me. Why must I have children like these? Haven't I always done my
best to teach them to be honest and good-hearted? If I'd spent my
life in the worst ways a man can, they couldn't have turned out more
worthless. Haven't I wished always what was right and good and true?
Haven't I always spoke up for justice in the world? Haven't I done
what I could, Sidney, to be helpful to them as fell into misfortune?
And now in my old age I'm only a burden, and the children as come
after me are nothing but a misery to all as have to do with them. If
it wasn't for Clara I feel I couldn't live my time out. She's the
one that pays me back for the love I've given her. All the others--
I can't feel as they're children of mine at all.'
It was a strange and touching thing that he seemed nowadays utterly
to have forgotten Clara's past. Invariably he spoke of her as if she
had at all times been his stay and comfort. The name of his son who
was dead never passed his lips, but of Clara he could not speak too
long or too tenderly.
'I can't think what to do,' Sidney said.
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