"I have not been well, sir; but I'm better now. I've had a sharp attack of rheumatic fever, and it has left me as you see. I shall never be again the man I was."
"Dear me! I am sorry to hear that. Rheumatism is a terrible thing. You do look as if it had pulled you down. And unhappily I bring you news that will distress you. Do you know I am visiting a poor man in the district where my mission-hall is who tells me he is your brother."
Michael started and changed colour.
"It's true, sir," he said, after a moment's pause; "he is my brother."
"I thought so. I could not doubt his story as he told it. It is a sad story, Mr. Betts. He is now on his death-bed. I have come to entreat you to go with me to him."
Michael sank on to the nearest chair. He was trembling so that he could not stand. He said nothing, and the gentleman went on speaking.
"He feels that he has wronged you grievously, and he wants to make what amends he can, and to hear you say you forgive him, ere he passes away. I don't think you will find it hard to forgive him when you see him as he is."
"There's no need to talk so, sir. You don't understand. I've most need to ask his forgiveness. The wrong wasn't all on one side. I can see that now, though I couldn't before. Where is he, if you please, sir?"
"At no great distance. I will take you there at once, if you can come."
"Ay, I can come, sir; I have only to put up the shutters, and I shall be ready."