“But others must have seen it,” persisted Mr. Rand. “Why did they not tell you?”
“I passed by a different name,” explained Robert. “None that knew me—and these were but few—could guess my identity with Robert Rand.”
At his father’s request Robert gave a brief account of the eighteen years of separation. He sat with his father’s hand resting in his. As he concluded, a convulsion passed over the old man’s features. He clasped Robert’s hand convulsively. The son leaned forward, hoping to catch the words that seemed struggling for utterance. He could only distinguish “my will—reparation.”
These were the last words that passed the lips of the dying man.
He breathed his life out in the effort, and fell back—dead!
Robert had, indeed, come at the eleventh hour. Yet had he not come too late to make his father’s death-bed happy. A peaceful smile rested upon the worn face. His life had closed happily.
Meanwhile what had become of Lewis?
It was difficult for him at first to collect his thoughts at this most unexpected occurrence.
At first he thought, “All is lost. My hopes are blasted!”
His second thought, when he had recovered from the momentary shock of his cousin’s appearance, was, “It may not be as bad as I fear. The old man cannot live long. This very excitement will probably prove too much for him in his present weak state. During the short time he has to live, it is not probable that anything will happen to disarrange my plans. In the first place, he thinks that his will provides for his son. And so his true will does! But I have taken care that this shall not be brought forward. My uncle and cousin will probably spend the time in sentimentalizing. It will be well for me not to intrude upon this interview, or I may be asked some awkward questions. Lewis Rand, this is the turning-point of your fortunes. Be discreet for a short time, and all may yet be well.”