"Most unhappy--most undeservedly unhappy. Ah, sir, if you had it in your power, would you not help him--would you not be proud to bring joy into the life of such a man? You were right in calling him noble. Such a nature as his ennobles the world! And yet at this moment he is stricken down by grief."
"He is here, then--in England?"
"He is here, in England, in Devonshire, within sound of my voice."
"What is his name?"
"I must relate an accident of his early life before I tell you, in proof that this act of devotion toward my Philip was not the only act of sacrifice and devotion he has performed. Not the only one, did I say? His life is full of noble deeds. When he was young he had a friend--nay, do not take your hand away; he and his friend loved the same girl. He saw that the girl's heart was given to his friend, whom he had kept in ignorance of the state of his affections, out of consideration for him. Listen, now, to what this man did when he fully learned the truth. Loving this girl, he could not remain near her without betraying himself. Knowing that the revelation of his love would bring distress both to his friend and the girl he loved, he went from them suddenly. He did more than this; his friend at that time was not rich. He himself had some little store of money--between one and two thousand pounds, as near as I can learn; he placed this money--the whole of his fortune--in the hands of a lawyer, to be given to the girl, with strict instructions that neither she nor his friend should know from whom it came. It is now for the first time that his friend hears of this act of sacrifice and unselfishness. Why do you turn from me?"
"Let me be, child, for a few moments," said Mr. Weston, in broken tones; "I might have guessed--I might have guessed! Where in the world could I find another such noble heart as Gerald's? I have wronged him--deeply wronged him."
"A fault confessed is half atoned for," said Margaret, pursuing her advantage. "Complete the atonement. You can do so."
"Child, my promise is given elsewhere. You do not know what strange things have happened this night, Margaret, that, apart from what you have told me, would induce me to complete the atonement. Margaret, I have been visited by the spirits of the dead--by men and women who passed out of the world years and years ago, and whose faces I have seen only in my dreams. They came to warn me, as it seems--but I cannot speak of it."
Margaret assisted him to a chair, and knelt by his side, Gideon Rowe standing a few paces away.
"Do not disregard their warning," she said sweetly, "if you disregard my pleading--for I do plead, and you know for whom."