"I make no claim upon you. I think I will establish that I am no—" Mr. Standish paused, then resumed: "If you remember, your son wrote to you shortly before his death a letter that you returned unopened, as you had done others before."
Sir Malcolm did not reply, and for a moment there was a dead silence. Mr. Standish resumed with difficulty:
"That letter, sir, was to ask you for three hundred pounds, that in a reckless moment he had taken from the money belonging to his regiment, convinced that he would be able to repay it."
Still the old man remained silent as death, looking with a fixed gaze upon the speaker.
"Your son came to me. Dishonor faced him. He told me of his folly. The next day he would be disgraced if he failed to raise the money."
Sir Malcolm drew a heavy breath; he parted his lips as if to speak, but no words came; and he listened intently.
"God knows, sir," resumed the young man, "that I tell you what follows with the utmost unwillingness. I had the money he needed so sorely, and I let him have it. His honor was saved. His act remained unknown to his brother-officers and to the world, but he felt the stigma too bitterly to live."
The old man sat down and took the proffered documents. He read them through hurriedly, and Meg noticed that once he brushed away a tear. Then he rose, and with a large and liberal action put out a trembling hand to the editor, who clasped it in his.
"Mr. Standish," said the baronet, "you have saved what is dearer to me than life—my family honor. I will do, sir, what I have never done before. I ask your pardon. I acknowledge an obligation to you that I can never repay."
"You can repay it, grandfather," said Meg through tears.