She paused a moment, but Andrew did not speak.
"You will make this sacrifice for Sophy's sake," she resumed. "Your grandson has suffered a great wrong, not altogether from my husband's fault, and we must all do what we can to set it right. My husband did not know of the existence of this son."
"Not know of him!" repeated Andrew.
"He knew only that Sophy was dead," said Margaret.
"But you knew she was dead!" he cried, turning fiercely upon Sidney; "you knew it while you were pretending to comfort me, you scoundrel! you hypocrite! You made promises to me of searching for her, and making inquiries, and all the time you knew she was in her grave. God grant I may see you punished!"
The impotent anger of the old man was painful to witness. His white head shook as if with palsy, and his trembling hands clutched the back of a chair for support. Mary ran to his side as if afraid of his falling to the floor.
"I am punished, Goldsmith," said Sidney. "Do you think it is nothing to be branded, as you have branded me, with infamy? But I have come to ask your forgiveness, and your aid in saving Martin from further consequences of my sin."
"Forgive you!" he answered. "I cannot, neither in this life nor the life to come. But I'll do what Miss Margaret asks. I'll quit my old house, and go away, and die among strangers, as my poor Sophy did; and every time you go up and down the street you'll see how desolate you've made my house. I've got a long lease of it, and it shan't be let to anybody else. We'll put up the shutters and leave it empty, and every time you see it you'll remember Sophy and my curse on you."
"Andrew!" said Margaret, "you are casting yourself away, out of the light of God's love, and all your path will be dark to you. You will cease to know him as he is; and you will find how terrible he can be in his anger."
"I repent bitterly of my sins against you," urged Sidney, "and I own how treacherous they were. But, Goldsmith, believe me when I say that I am changed, that I could not sin against you now as I did then."