There was no one to whom I could tell it.

My mother was dead, and my father--" he stopped for a moment, with a deep intake of the breath.

He could see his father, that lonely iron man, sitting at this very moment in his mother's favourite seat upon the terrace, and looking over the moonlit fields toward the Sussex Downs; he could imagine him dreaming of honours and distinctions worthy of the Fevershams to be gained immediately by his son in the Egyptian campaign.
Surely that old man's stern heart would break beneath this blow.

The magnitude of the bad thing which he had done, the misery which it would spread, were becoming very clear to Harry Feversham.

He dropped his head between his hands and groaned aloud.
"My father," he resumed, "would, nay, could, never have understood.