"I did not know you were ill, child. Yes, take that chair. Oh, Valentine, for you my love was true."
"Father, don't let us go back to that subject. Now I am ready. I will listen. What have you got to say?"
"In the first place, I am perfectly sane at this moment."
"I am sure of that."
"Now listen. Look away from me, Valentine, while I speak. That is all I ask."
Valentine slightly turned her chair; her trembling and excitement had grown and grown.
"I am ready. Don't make the story longer than you can help," she said in a choked voice.
"Years and years ago, child, before you were born, I was a happy man. I was honorable then and good; I was the sort of man I pretended to be afterwards. I married your mother, who died at your birth. I had loved your mother very dearly. After her death you filled her place. Soon you did more than fill it; you were everything to me; you gave early promise of being a more spirited and brilliant woman than your mother. I lived for you; you were my whole and entire world.
"Before your birth, Valentine, a friend, a great friend of mine, left me a large sum of money. He was dying at the time he made his will; his wife was in New Zealand; he thought it possible that she might soon give birth to a child. If the child lived, the money was to be kept in trust for it until its majority. If it died it was to be mine absolutely. I may as well tell you that my friend's wife was a very worthless woman, and he was determined she should have nothing to say to the money. He died—I took possession—a son was born. I knew this fact, but I was hard pressed at the time, and I stole the money.
"My belief was that neither the child nor the mother could ever trace the money. Soon I was disappointed. I received a letter from the boy's mother which showed me that she knew all, and although not a farthing could be claimed until the lad came of age, then I must deliver to him the entire sum with interest.