“And why should you now?”
“I cannot tell you at present; but I must see my father.”
“I tell you again,” said Lewis, vehemently, “that if you see him, it will be at the peril of his life. It hangs upon a thread.”
Meanwhile Mr. Rand had listened with feverish anxiety to the voices which he could indistinctly hear. A wild hope had sprung up in his heart. Oh, for the power to rise from his bed and satisfy himself at once. Alas, this could not be! At length, as the speakers raised their voices, he thought he could distinguish the word “father.” His agitation reached a fearful pitch. He raised his voice as high as his feeble strength would permit, and called “Robert!”
That word reached the ears of Robert Ford. Nothing could stop him now. He pushed Lewis aside, scarcely conscious what he did, and a moment after found him kneeling at his father’s bedside.
“Father, forgive me!”
The old man, with an effort, stretched out his thin and wasted hand, and placed it tremulous with weakness upon the head of his kneeling son.
“God, I thank thee,” he uttered, reverently, “for this hour. This my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found. Robert, I have forgiven you long ago. Can you forgive me?”
“Do you then ask my forgiveness, O my father?”
“Yes, Robert. My heart has long since confessed the wrong it did you. Can you forgive me?”