She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. “You’ve interested me enormously. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused.
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