The old man for a moment looked about the room blankly, as if a haze obscured his vision. Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but as suddenly the light faded out, his features quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying, brokenly, in an accent of despair,—
“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”
Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—
“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you will kill me! It was not for the likes o’ me to have married you. Now you are so white an’ thin, an’, Hetty, when I took ye to the church, yer cheeks were redder nor the summer rose. Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”
A terrible struggle in his throat compelled him to pause for a moment, then he went on with rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress could hardly find expression in words:—
“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one that; I can not bar it!—not that, not my name! I swear to ye, he shall not take after the likes of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty, I swear to ye, if I live, he shall never hear a low word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He shall have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman. Hetty, I’ve been a worthless dog—a brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer face—but hear me, Hetty, I swear to ye, the little one, even if ye will call him George Safford, shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so still! O Hetty!—dead! she is dead—dead!”
Both the colonel and Helen turned with astonishment to young Safford when the old man, in his delirium, had spoken his name; but the latter, unconscious of their surprise, with a single cry, sprang forward, and supported the exhausted figure in his arms as it sank back.
“Father—my father!” The words broke from his lips in a voice painfully choked by emotion.
There was another severe struggle for breath, then, with renewed strength, the old man raised himself into a sitting posture, and, looking round quickly, began in a hurried manner, fumbling about with his hands,—
“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me agin! He mustn’t never know as I’m alivin’. He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’ me.” He paused a moment, and the expression of his face changed. “It’s a lie!” he cried, fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body to look after! It’s all a lie!” Then, shivering suddenly, he said, lowering his voice, and speaking softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not have no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a gentleman. I said he should be a gentleman—and he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No, no! I never seen you before—I never seen you before!”