"If you had heard of my good fortune you would have leapt upon us like a wolf; but it did not reach your ears. Therefore you kept away from us, fearing, while you had one penny left, that we should beg a halfpenny of it. Your mother brought you home--not to these rooms at first, for we had not removed from our old quarters, but afterwards we came here for your pleasure. Well, for hers, too, perhaps,"--his eyes softened a little as he turned them towards the bed in which Mrs. Chaytor lay--"and she was happy, for the first time for many, many years, because you were with us. I could not come to see you; it is eight months since I was able to crawl, but your mother gave me accounts of you, and I was not displeased that she was able to nurse you into strength. She has hastened her end through it, but that matters little to her. During this last week I have been thinking what I should do with my money, and I have allowed myself to be persuaded, most likely beguiled. Look beneath my bed; you will see a cashbox; bring it forth."
Basil did as he was directed, and produced the cashbox.
"It contains a portion of my wealth; there are some shares in it which may yet be valuable. I have made no will, but I give you the cashbox and the contents while I live; they are yours--a free gift. Beneath my bed, between the mattresses, is a larger sum which you may take possession of when I am gone; I make no disposition of it, and you may act as you please in regard to it. Take the key of the cashbox--it is hanging there, at the head of the bed; and I lay this injunction upon you, that you do not open the box until I am dead. In this I must break through the rule I laid down when I began to speak. You will obey me?"
"I will obey you," said Basil.
"It is a solemn promise?"
"It is a solemn promise."
"There is a look in your face I have never seen there before. Is it possible that a change has come over you?"
"I have none but kind and grateful thoughts for you."
"Is it true. Can it be true?"
"It is true." Then, like a whirlwind, there rushed upon Basil's mind a torrent of self-reproach. Was it right that he should allow the dying man to rest in his delusion? Was it not incumbent upon him that he should confess, here and now, that he was not Newman Chaytor? Whatever the consequences, was it not his duty to brave them? But before he could speak a word to this effect Mr. Chaytor raised himself in his bed with a terrible cry; and at that cry the nurse unceremoniously entered the room, and caught Mr. Chaytor in her arms. A little froth gathered about his lips, his head tossed this way and that; then movement ceased; his limbs relaxed, and the nurse laid him back in bed. Awe-stricken, Basil whispered: