“Wrong, Mr Paul,” said Geoffrey, smiling, and laying his hand upon the old man’s shoulder. “Uncle Paul, I like you,—I always have liked you; but you were unjust to me when you asked me to bear John Tregenna’s sin.”
The old man started back from him, his neck over the back of his chair, his withered throat stretched, and his lips parted, as he stared up in Geoffrey’s face. Then, as the whole truth seemed to come home to him, he caught at Geoffrey’s hand, and, trembling, and in broken accents, began to plead for pardon.
“My poor boy—my brave boy—my poor boy!” was all, though, that he could stammer; and, in his abject misery, he tried to struggle from his chair upon his knees: but, as soon as Geoffrey realised the truth, he smilingly held the old man in his place.
“No, no, Uncle Paul,” he said. “Stand up, old fellow, and give me your hand, like the true, chivalrous old gentleman you are, and let us understand each other once and for all. Come, you forgive me now?”
“Forgive you?” faltered the old man. “My boy, can you forgive me?”
“Your hand too, Mrs Mullion. Do you doubt my word?”
“Oh, no, no!” sobbed the poor woman, sadly, for matters had not turned out as she wished, and her tears were falling fast, when Geoffrey exclaimed sharply, and held out his hand,—
“There is some one listening! Quick; there is something wrong.”
He ran to the door, and as he flung it open there was a hasty step upon the gravel, and then a heavy fall.
The next moment he was raising the insensible form of poor Madge from the path, for she had been unable to resist the temptation to steal up and have one more glance at the old home before returning to Gwennas, but her strength was exhausted now; and when, after being carried into the house and laid upon the sofa, Mrs Mullion threw herself sobbing upon her knees beside her child, Geoffrey placed his hand upon the old man’s shoulder, and pointed to the pair.