The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

how set you was on havin' him!” 
    Treeves, furious at the injustice of the old man, yet alarmed by the condition into which he had worked himself, set himself to explain and soothe even as the servant was doing. He had wandered farther than he realized and dark caught him suddenly. The paths were obscure, and he had gone out of his way in returning. Unconsciously, as he went on talking in a gentle tone as one talks to babies and very sick people, something of the spirit of the serving man came upon him and he was able to understand how Hespur had stood all the abuse and toil during the years, and how the master had become an old child, his charge to love and protect even against himself. 
    There was no going down to dinner that night. A doctor was summoned and the room settled into the quiet of a sick room until at last the old tyrant slept and his nephew and servant were free to go to their rest. 
    After that experience Treeves decided to humor his uncle until he had recovered his former poise, and for three days he made himself as agreeable to the cranky old invalid as it was in his power to be. On the morning of the fourth day, however, matters came to a crisis. The old man announced that he felt better and that they were going down to the ballroom that night. There was to be a dance and he wanted his nephew to attend and make himself agreeable to his friends. His desire was to sit on the sidelines and watch his nephew dance with the girls he should pick out for him. 
    Young Treeves, after listening with growing disgust to the program marked out for him, decided that the time had come to make a stand, and with as pleasant a manner as he could summon in his present state of mind, he endeavored to explain that he had already lingered longer than he had expected, and must leave that afternoon. He had an engagement to meet of long standing, and if he went at once he would barely have time to stop for a few hours in New York and give messages to the families of two of his associates abroad. He was sorry of course to disappoint his uncle, but it really was impossible for him to remain any longer. 
    The old man raged and swore and raved, and then fell to begging in such a piteous wail, begging that the nephew would at least stay for that evening, the scant old tears actually coursing down his ghastly cheeks and the old servant lifted tortured eyes of appeal to his face. Here was the whole thing to go over again with the old tyrant. John Treeves's anger rose against it all It was the same spirit that had bullied his sweet young mother. Somebody ought to have spanked the old uncle years and years ago and taken it out of him. He half turned away in disgust, and then wheeled back: 
    “Stop!” he commanded in the voice that during the war had always been obeyed, although he was not a commissioned officer. “Stop! You are an old coward! You have no control over yourself and no reason in your actions. You have just come out of a three days’ illness which you know might have been your last, brought on wholly by your own will, and kept up by your will. You are trying to bully me now into obeying your will just because you are too much of a coward to face the slightest opposition to your will. You have bullied people all your life, and I don't wonder that you are not very happy now. But didn't it ever occur to you that you never really get your way that way? You never can bully people into giving you real obedience. They may do a few things you make them do, but they hate you. You never have their love, or their real obedience, and that's what you want, isn't it? You can't ever get anything going at it that way. You've bullied a great many people in your time, but you're coming to the end, and there's God. You can't bully Him, you know!” 
    His voice had grown quiet and steady now and he was looking straight and unflinchingly into the wild old eyes, holding them, controlling them, forcing them to keep quiet and listen. 
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