"Not so. I have that to relate which though at first it may cause you pain, cannot fail, upon reflection, to make you grateful. If I were to tell you that you have not transmitted to an innocent girl the fatal inheritance which has weighed like a curse upon your life, how would it be with you?"
"It would be heaven--it would be light! Unconscious sinner as I am, it might mean forgiveness!"
"I have been closeted with your wife, from whose lips I have heard what you should hear. You will listen to me?"
"Will you be long?" he asked, with a strange smile.
"I will be as brief as possible--and receive it from me, as I received it from your wife, that every word I utter is true."
I told him the story of Mildred, who until now he had believed to be his daughter. Perceiving that he was ill, I shortened it as much as possible. Once or twice I paused in my recital, and asked him if he was in pain.
"In pain!" he cried. "When you are bringing heaven to me! The agitation you observe in me proceeds from joy. Do not linger. Finish quickly, quickly!"
At the chiming of the half-hour my story was done. There was a happy light in Carew's eyes. White as his face had grown, peace had stolen into it.
"Oh, God, I thank Thee!" he murmured, raising his arms; and then he suddenly fell forward on his face.
"I raised his head, and assisted him into a recumbent position.