"How very grand you look!" said she, proudly. "Did you see the
Governor?"
"Yes, but he can do nothing now. It's the only cloud in the sky."
"Dear old man!" said Polly. "We'll find a way to help him."
"But he wouldn't thank us for help—there's the truth of it," said Trove, quickly. "He's happy and content. Here is a letter that came to-day. 'Dear Sidney,' he writes. 'Think of all I have said to thee, an', if ye remember well, boy, it will bear thee up. Were I, indeed, as ye believe, drinking the cup o' bitterness for thy sake, know ye not the law will make it sweet for me? After all I have said to thee, are ye not prepared? Is my work wasted; is the seed fallen upon the rocks? And if ye hold to thy view, consider—would ye rob the dark world o' the light o' sacrifice? "Nay," ye will answer. Then I say: "If ye would give me peace, go to thy work, boy, and cease to waste thyself with worry and foolish wandering."'
"Somehow it puts me to shame," said Trove, as he put the letter in his pocket. "I'm so far beneath him. I shall obey and go to work and pray for the speedy coming of God's justice."
"It's the only thing to do," said she. "Sidney, I hope now I have a right to ask if you know who is your father?"
"I believe him to be dead."
"Dead!" there was a note of surprise in the word.
"I know not even his name."
"It is all very strange," said Polly. In a moment she added, "I hope you will forgive my mother if she seemed to doubt you."