Belding knew truth when he heard
it. The revelation did not surprise him. Belding did not soften,
for he devined that Chase's emotion was due to the probing of an
old wound, the recalling of a past both happy and painful. Still,
human nature was so strange that perhaps kindness and sympathy
might yet have a place in this Chase's heart. Belding did not
believe so, but he was willing to give Chase the benefit of the
doubt.
"So you told my wife you'd respect her secret--keep her dishonor
from husband and daughter?" demanded Belding, his dark gaze
sweeping back from the lane.
"What! I--I" stammered Chase.
"You made your son swear to be a man and die before he'd hint the
thing to Nell?" went on Belding, and his voice rang louder.
Ben Chase had no answer. The red left his face. His son slunk
back against the fence.
"I say you never held this secret over the heads of my wife and
her daughter?" thundered Belding.
He had his answer in the gray faces, in the lips that fear
made mute. Like a flash Belding saw the whole truth of Mrs.
Belding's agony, the reason for her departure; he saw what had
been driving Nell; and it seemed that all the dogs of hell were
loosed within his heart. He struck out blindly, instinctively in
his pain, and the blow sent Ben Chase staggering into the fence
corner. Then he stretched forth a long arm and whirled Radford
Chase back beside his father.
"I see it all now," went on Belding, hoarsely.
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