"Uncle," she said, quietly, "you look very ill; are you in trouble?"
He held out his hands to her; at the sound of her voice all his heart seemed to go out to this glorious daughter of his race.
"Pauline," he said, in a low, broken voice, "I am thinking about you—I am wondering about you. Have I done—I wonder, have I done wrong?"
A clear light flashed into her noble face.
"Do you refer to Darrell Court?" she asked. "If you do, you have done wrong. I think you might have trusted me. I have many faults, but I am a true Darrell. I would have done full justice to the trust."
"I never thought so," he returned, feebly; "and I did it all for the best, as I imagined, Pauline."
"I know you did—I am sure you did," she agreed, eagerly; "I never thought otherwise. It was not you, uncle. I understand all that was brought to bear upon you. You are a Darrell, honorable, loyal, true; you do not understand anything that is not straightforward. I do, because my life has been so different from yours."
He was looking at her with a strange, wavering expression in his face; the girl's eyes, full of sympathy, were turned on him.
"Pauline," he said, feebly, "if I have done wrong—and, oh, I am so loth to believe it—you will forgive me, my dear, will you not?"
For the first time he held out his arms to her; for the first time she went close to him and kissed his face. It was well that Lady Hampton was not there to see. Pauline heard him murmur something about "a true Darrell—the last of the Darrells," and when she raised her head she found that Sir Oswald had fallen into a deep, deadly swoon.