His brother Pierre looked out,
and then came running toward him. "Come in, Gabriel; oh, do come
in!" said the boy, earnestly. "We are afraid to be alone with
father. He's been beating us for talking of you."
Gabriel went in. His father looked up from the hearth where he
was sitting, muttered the word "Spy!" and made a gesture of
contempt but did not address a word directly to his son. The
hours passed on in silence; afternoon waned into evening, and
evening into night; and still he never spoke to any of his
children. Soon after it was dark, he went out, and took his net
with him, saying that it was better to be alone on the sea than
in the house with a spy.
When he returned the next morning there was no change in him.
Days passed--weeks, months, even elapsed, and still, though his
manner insensibly became what it used to be toward his other
children, it never altered toward his eldest son At the rare
periods when they now met, except when absolutely obliged to
speak, he preserved total silence in his intercourse with
Gabriel. He would never take Gabriel out with him in the boat; he
would never sit alone with Gabriel in the house; he would never
eat a meal with Gabriel; he would never let the other children
talk to him about Gabriel; and he would never hear a word in
expostulation, a word in reference to anything his dead father
had said or done on the night of the storm, from Gabriel himself.
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