Sheridan rose,
frowning, but remained standing beside his chair; and Roscoe moved
toward Sibyl, who stared uneasily at the open doorway. They listened
as the slow steps descended the stairs and came toward the library.
Bibbs stopped upon the threshold, and with sick and haggard eyes
looked slowly from one to the other until at last his gaze rested
upon his father. Then he came and stood before him.
"I'm sorry you've had so much trouble with me," he said, gently.
"You won't, any more. I'll take the job you offered me."
Sheridan did not speak--he stared, astounded and incredulous; and
Bibbs had left the room before any of its occupants uttered a sound,
though he went as slowly as he came. Mrs. Sheridan was the first to
move. She went nervously back to the doorway, and then out into the
hall. Bibbs had gone from the house.
Bibbs's mother had a feeling about him then that she had never known
before; it was indefinite and vague, but very poignant--something in
her mourned for him uncomprehendingly. She felt that an awful thing
had been done to him, though she did not know what it was. She went
up to his room.
The fire George had built for him was almost smothered under thick,
charred ashes of paper.
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